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FuòAjtf.7.W0ò. iy C.CfiappU.^aCl Matt . 



EFFUSIONS OF LOVE 



MARY QUEEN OF SCOTLAND. 



TRANSLATED FROM 

A GALLIC MANUSCRIPT, 

In the Scotch College, at Paris. 



INTERSPERSED WITH 
SONGS, SONNETS, AND NOTES EXPLANATORY, 

BY THE TRANSLATOR. 



lonBon : 

PRINTED FOR C. CHAPPLE, PALL-MALL, 

AND SOUTHAMPTON-ROW, ELOOMSBURY. 



1S05. 



^ftul 






J. CUNDEE, PRINTER, 
IVY-LANE. 



TO THE READER. 



IT is altogether needless, the Editor conceives, 
to enter into an elaborate disquisition of the su- 
perlative beauty and fascinating accomplishments 
of the unfortunate Mary Queen of Scots, who 
was (from every account that has been transmit- 
ted to us by historians of her own period) so ir- 
resistibly seductive, as to inspire with love every 
object that came within the vortex of her tran- 
scendent charms.* 

Of the numerous individuals that were sacri- 
ficed at the shrine of Mary's beauty, none is 



* Nothing can possibly convey to us a better idea of the 
loveliness of Mary, than the exquisite picture of her now 
preserved, in the possession of the Duke of Dorset, at his 
mansion at Knowle, in Kent. 



IV 

the execution of the Editor's plan, which he however 
found means to effect, through the medium of Mon- 
sieur de M , who was then high in power, but 

who has since shared the fate of so many of his re- 
volutionary friends — upon a public scaffold. 

It might naturally be conjectured, that the then pos- 
ture of affairs in Paris did not leave the reigning 
factions much leisure time to think of manuscripts 
appertaining to the house of Stuart, and such was 
indeed the editor's opinion on procuring the permis- 
sion to inspect them; but in this conjecture he found 
himself altogether mistaken, his conduct being ob- 
served with the utmost scrutiny, by which means lie 
was scarcely perinitted to make a single extract, till 
his frequent attendances at the Scotch College at 
length weared his conductor, added to zvhich the 
more weighty persuasion of British gold, which the 
editor threw into the scale, gained him the preponde- 
rance in the conductor's good graces ; and by this 
means he was at full liberty to make such transcripts 
as appeared to him of an interesting nature and novel 
cast. 



The manuscripts in question contain abundance of 
political information, and much private anecdote, 
particularly in those letters which passed bettveen 
Mary Queen of Scots, and Catherine de Medicis ; 
there are also poetical effusions of the Scottish queen, 
written in French and Italian, which the Editor in- 
tends presenting to the ivorld on a future occasion, 
should this volume meet the approbation of the pub- 
lic. 

The account of the sufferings of Chatelar are 
written by himself in the form of fragments, inscribed 
to Mary Queen of Scotland, and zvere, it is said, 
sent to her by the w fortunate youth during the short 
confinement which preceded his execution, as appears 
by one of his effusions at the end of this ivork. 

The original manuscript and poems are written 
throughout in the Gallic language, which the Editor 
has endeavoured to put into a modern English dress, 
as the idiom of the French is so much altered, that a 
native of France, in the present day, would find it 
rather difficult to comprehend the meaning of many 
parts of the diary of Chatelar, as written by him- 
self 



VI 

Should the Editor have succeeded in his attempt, 
so far as to extend to his countrymen a portion of 
that melancholy pleasure he experienced, on the pe- 
rusal of the effusions of Chatelar, his utmost wishes 
will be gratified ; and it shall then he his endeavour, 
to elucidate in a similar manner many unknown cir- 
cumstances attending the fate of the beautiful, but un- 
fortunate, Mary Queen of Scotland, which are de- 
rived from the same authentic source as the contents 
of the present volume. 



CHATELAR. 



FRAGMENT I. 



WHAT are sublunary considerations to 

the mind of fire ? — What has this world to do 
with love ? All — all is vanity, nothing but the 
neglected chaff wafted on the rude wings of the 

northern blast Avaunt — fly from me power 

and riches, and give me love, nought else but 
love. — It shall be my state, my fortune, and I 
will be proud with it though robed in the gar- 
ments of worldly wretchedness. Love knows 

not want—he has no such inmate as Poverty ; if 
he smiles, he has but one dread foe; if he 
frowns, he has but one true friend ; and both 

concentrate in the oblivion of death. But 

must we die ? is there not in love sufficient fire 
to keep this earthly frame from marble coldness ? 
—Yes ; while Mary lives, the soul-invigorating 
fire of her celestial eyes must keep alive this 



2 CHATELAR. 

frame of mine But, ah ! who am I that dare 

thus ally myself with heavenly beauty and ter- 
restrial greatness ? -=- What is Chatelar ? — No 
imperial title, no transcendent qualities are 
mine Yes ! oh yes ! I am ennobled ; for Cha- 
telar wears within his breast the never-fading in- 
signia of love, and his qualifications are fer- 
vency and immutable truth.-— Who dares dis- 
pute my claim ?— Cold world I hate thee — I 
soar above thy grovelling trammels, and wing 
my way amid the expansive regions of glowing 

fancy. Mary is a queen, Chatelar is a lover: 

such is my plea, and who dares dispute the au- 
thority of love ?— Hear then, bright goddess of 
my soul, in pity hear me ; let me but catch the 
softened lustre of thine eyes, and Chatelar will 
dare confess himself; yes !— wrench from his bo- 
som the reeking dart which thou hast planted 
there, and give his soul full vent. 

Why should I speak of time, that had exist- 
ence ere yet I knew how exquisite it was to 

love? Oh Scotland! thou gavest me birth; 

*twas here I first inhal'd the breath of life, where 
now I live in extacy. Nobility of blood 1 boast 
not ; but proudly may I assert that claim to ho- 
nour, which is the legacy of a father schooled in 
virtue and in truth. 

Why recapitulate the scenes of boyhood, and 
the revolutions in my fate ? — I became the miniOn 



CHATELAR. 3 

of the court of France, and secretary of the 
Marechal D'Anville— Oh ! that name !— -Yes, 
even he, my benefactor and my friend, awakens 
every pang : for he dares look on thee-— and 
looking, dares to love. 

'Twas then, enchanting queen ! my eyes first 
gazed upon those charms I since have learned to 
reverence, with all the fervor of matchless truth. 
Whene'er I saw you, my pulse beat with an un- 
wonted motion, and the throbbings of my heart 
spoke to my soul a language it had never known 
before — my brain became on fire, and ere I knew 
the term, I knew what constituted love.— To 
look in speechless rapture on your beaming eye, 
to mark the symmetry of that angelic form, and 
contemplate the graceful motion of your step, 
were then my height of bliss. — Love had not 
taught me what presumption was, I rather stood 
the awe-struck victim of his all-puissant will. 

You left the court of France — Yes— Mary 
left it, and with her all the rays of beauty and 
of grace fled Gallia's shores for ever. — Never 
shall I forget the hour when the Marechal D'An- 
ville gained your acquiescence with his wish; 
for that blessed hour made me too the partner of 
his voyage hither.* We embarked, and the 

* The Merechal Danville, to whom Chatelar was secre- 
tary, though a married man, was passionately enamoured 
b2 



4 CHATELAR. 

white surge, as if obedient to the queen of love, 

retired at her approach Oh, that night !--- 

fond recollection ! — how my entranc'd soul 
catches at every thought that pictures Mary to 
my fever' d mind. — Yes ; that dear enchanting 
night was spent in bliss unspeakable !-— I lay 
upon my pallet, watchful as the party-coloured 
lynx, for my mind told me that Mary's form 
reposed within the cabin which adjoined to 
mine. The mariner, ever and anon, sung to 
the breeze a ditty to his love. — 1 left my couch 
— Oh sleep ! thou wast not there— in vain thy 
leaden pinions, steeped in second death, lay 
heavy on the lids of all around me ; I was 
alone invulnerable, nor felt thy potent influ- 
ence. 

I arose — yes ; I dared approach the hallowed 
entrance of thy cabin — my knees trembled, and 
I sought support; — love's faintness drew its cur- 
tain o'er my senses, and I lay ensteeped in bliss 

of Mary Queen of Scots; and when she determined on 
quitting France for Scotland, he obtained her permission to 
escort her thither. The Marechal was a nobleman of the 
most refined manners, very accomplished, and remarkably 
handsome. Some historians have even thought that Mary 
suffered him to indulge his headstrong passion too far; 
but this may have arisen from her predilection in his fa- 
vour, as she was by no means blind to his shining qualifi- 
cations. 



CHATELAR. 5 

immortal. I awoke, and on my knees implor- 
ed sweet slumbers to attend thy couch— -I did 
more ; it was the first bold impulse with which 
love nerved me — I dared to wish that dreams 
might conjure to thy brain the form of him who 
burned with extacy. — Perhaps it was illusion, 
but methought my prayers were heard. 

A silence of the grave ensued— I scarcely suf- 
fered the feverish breath to pass the portal of 
my lips.— Again the sailor from above sang to 
the winds his tale.— A something inexpressible 
swelled my heart, and though, perhaps, the ut- 
terer of those sounds was not so exquisitely 
framed as me to feel the thrill of love, yet still 
he seemed to love ; and that was in itself suffici- 
ent to excite the tenderest sympathy in the bo- 
som of Chatelar. 

Quitting my cabin, I ascended to the deck, 
and hailed the pilot of the night; at my ap- 
proach he bowed respectfully. 

" Friend," said I, " that ditty once again, I 
" do entreat thee; for it hath charms to lull 
" me into quiet." 

He sang the melancholy strain, which so vi- 
brated on the thrilling chords of my soul, that 
never have the words escaped me; they ran as 
follows, and the ditty in responsive sadness 
breathed what the poet told.— - 
B 3 



CHATELAR. 



THE SAILOR'S DITTY. 

Tell ye winds, that bleakly blow, 
All the damsel's tale of woe ; 
Tell, thou deadly yawning main, 
All the love-sick sailor's pain ; 
Let each plaintive accent prove 
Margaret's truth and Henry's love. 

Myrtles blighted, 
Loves benighted, 
For the willow 
Shades their pillow, 

Sadly moans the turtle-dove. 

Hush, I hear the hollow wind 
Breathe the truth of Marg'ret's mind ; 
Hark, the dashing waves impart 
Henry's fervent, faithful heart : 
Winds and waves in union prove 
Matchless truth and ardent love. 

Myrtles blighted, 
Loves benighted, 
For the willow 
Shades their pillow, 

Sadly moans the turtle-dove. 

Sailor-youth the main you cross'd, 
Oft by raging billows toss'd ; 
Gentle maid unseen you sigh'd, 
Languish'd, pin'd, and love-sick died 



CHATELAR. 

While thy Henri's struggling breath 
Blcss'd thee in a wat'ry death. 

Myrtle's blighted, 
Loves benighted, 
For the willow 
Shades their pillow, 

Sadly moans the turtle-dove. 



The moon in pale majesty rode through the 
dark ethereous expanse, and the stars in glitter- 
ing lustre bespangled the firmament around ; it 
seemed, indeed, as if the elements combined to 
rock the slumbers of bright beauty's queen, and 
sooth her into sweet forgetfulness. 

The last sad note of the seaman's strain faded 
on the breeze of night, while still entranc'd I 
wished for more.— There is in music, to the soul 
of love, a stealing softness, that preying on the 
senses lulls them into melancholy.— The tear 
was in my eye ; thy name, oh Mary ! trembled 
on my tongue. 

" Friend/' said I, " where learnedst thou 
" that little soothing ditty, and who attuned 
" thy voice to keep such exquisite harmony; 
" thy trade is rugged, and ill seasoned to such 
" notes of tenderness and love ?" 

" A Norman youth am I," replied the sea- 
man, " and the air is one of those well known 
B 4 



8 CHATELAR. 

" where I was born. I often sing it at this 
" drear hour to banish heavy thoughts." 

" To banish them ? — thou meanst to feed thy 
" sorrows, friend/' 

The seaman paused ; his bonnet hung o'er his 
brow, but, as if to screen a hidden mystery that 
might betray itself, he gently drew it more upon 
his face. — Still was he mute — O Mary ! there is 
sometimes in silence a language inexpressibly 
sublime. 

" My friend," said I : the seaman heard the 
sound, and suddenly replied — 

" It doth not feed my sorrows, but it sooths 
" them." 

" Then are thy feelings those of the heart." 

" They come from thence, if to remember 
" those we reverence, and her we love, has any 
u connection with the soul." 

The mariner then told his little tale of woe ; 
'twas liberty he wanted, and to give his heart 
where it could alone find rest. 

Kind, generous protector !— Yes, Mary, it 
was I that told the Marechal all the sailor's 
misery. — You commiserated him — yes; Mary 
deigned to feel for the child of luckless fortune, 
and D'Anville paid his ransom. I gloried in the 
deed — for, though Chatelar remained unknown 
to all as the great instrument of peace to him 
that needed it, nothing could rob me of the 



CHATELAR. g 

bliss internal, which applauded me for the deed, 
and whispered to my soul— Mary too must one 
day join her praises with the plaudits of my 
soul, and own that Chatelar was not incapable 
of love. 




CJIATELAR. 11 



FRAGMENT IT. 



Jlassiow — Ah! no; it cannot be passion : Love 
is all pure, all refined; it is a mixture of ten- 
der pity, noble generosity, and candour open as 
the face of day, where every thing is given, and 
nothing ! no, nothing ! but a heart glowing with 
the most enthusiastic ardour required. Passion 
is extinguishable ; but love, almighty love, alone 
constitutes a world of bliss, or probes with scor- 
pion sting that wretch who nourishes by nature 
this extatic sensation of the soul, and yet suf- 
fers it to pine away unregarded. 

The northern blast, that nips the ripening blos- 
som of renovating spring, is not so chilly and so 
piercing cold, as the tormenting ravages of heart- 
corroding jealousy, which cankering by absence 
wound beyond the power of time to cure. 

I stare with vacancy upon boundless expanse ; 
it is like time illimitable, and is measured only 
by our hopes Ah! Hope, thou art indeed 



12 CHATELAR. 

but a faint expression, a simple star amid the 
blaze of noon-tide day, when thou wouldst en- 
deavour to conjure to my fancy the bliss of that 
reality I pant for — of that heavenly emotion 
which now consumes my bleeding heart, and 
flies through the wide expanse of thought, only 
to be precipitated still deeper in the gulph of 
misery from the dread assurance of impossibi- 
lity. ' 

Where am I ? — why do I rave ?— It is heaven 
ordains it ; I was to be unfortunate. — I tax thee 
not ; sweet, lovely excellence !— No, Mary, 'tis 
not in thee to inflict a pang so cursed as that I 
feel— to strike the soul that owns thee mistress 

of its fate for ever. Come Reason! come, 

thou rallier of the scattered senses, poise my un- 
steady brain, clip the eagle-pinions of my rag- 
ing fancy, and bind me with thine icy chain to 
some fixed centre. * * * * * * 

* * * * You trod the wished-for 
shore — yes ; Scotland saw its mistress and its 
queen; you came like the soft zephyr of the 
spring to plant perfection in this sterile land; 
and all who saw you wondered, worshipped, and 
admired the heavenly excellence ingrafted here. 

Day still succeeded day, and every coming 
dawn proved what gave bitter anguish to my 

soul. D'Anville thou wast my rival, but thou 

wast also my noble benefactor.—-! never cursed 



CHATELAR. 13 

thee — no ; witness for me every minister of 
light. — I never in the agonizing struggles which 
my love endured e'er tainted with so foul a stain 
my love-sick breast. — Nay, why affirm it, Mary ? 
It could not be; for had such baseness marked 
my mind, love had ne'er found sanctuary in this 
breast of mine. 

Yes ; D'Anville loved thee, loves thee still. — 
How oft at midnight have I heard him vent the 
sigh, while from my bosom the responsive groans 
have numbered out the lingering hours. Ah ! lit- 
tle thought my noble friend how watchful was 
his Chatelar.— How often hath he called me to 
him — looked on me with a vacant stare — shook 
me by the trembling hand, and moistened it with 

his tears. Oh God ! the pang of jealousy was 

then no more ; it slept within me harmless as the 
new-born babe; I pitied the best, the noblest 
friend and master — yes ; tears have mingled fast 
with his. — 1 knew the solemn truth, and yet, by 
Him who rules on high, 1 did not like a dastard 
triumph in his miseries. — I knew that D'Anville 
was another's, being bound by the sacred bond of 

the Divinity 1 knew that he was married ! 

Oh ! had I felt within me a spark of gratified 
malignity, might I then have been accursed for 
ever. 

" My friend, my Chatelar !" would he ex- 
claim, " from thy slumbers have I aroused thee 



!4 CHATELAR. 

*' — yes ; I have cruelly banished from thine eyes 
" the charm of sleep which had ensteeped them 
" — cruelly have I done so ; for why shouldst 
" thou too suffer ? — Quit me ; go once more to 
" thy repose, dear youth — forgive ; and if thou 
" canst, forget the peevish temper of thy lord/' 
I have bathed his hands with my tears — I have 
fervently blessed him — yes ; from my soul have 
I called down peace to his aid — in vain at inter- 
vals has the black demon, jealousy, pictured all 
my lord's transcendent acquirements — in vain 
was represented to my brain a fancied smile of 
more than even glowing approbation, which thou, 
O Mary ! hadst conferred upon my benefactor ; 
pity had then usurped unrivall'd sway, and ba- 
nished from my soul each grovelling sentiment — 
yes ; it was the struggle of conflicting passions ; 
and though my love was undiminished, my ho- 
nour and my gratitude were also free from stain. 



* 


* 


* 


* 


* 


* 


* 


* 


* 


# 


■* 


* 


* 


* 



* * Tis midnight — O my queen! 

It is the solemn hour when thus I give those rap- 
tures vent, which I retrace with agonizing plea- 
sure — yes ; for rapture, such as mine, treads on 
the heel of agony so fast, that both are lost in 
extacy ! 

I'll pray — yes, pray ; but to whom ? — Have 
I religion ? Reason answers in the affirmative ; 



CHATELAR. 15 

but my passion will not let me offer praise where 

contrite prayer is due. — To whom then must I 

address myself? To love and Mary.—— 

******* 

******* 

* Oh, matchless power ! — Oh, mistress 
of my heart ! thou in whom existence centers — 
extend thy benignant powers to the most fervent 
of thy creatures — pour upon my devoted head 
some pitying ray, to illumine the prospect of an 
s existence rendered by thee dark as Erebus, and 
cheerless as the cavern of despair. — Let thy in- 
vigorating beam infuse into my chaotic soul one 
bright spark of heavenly comfort, from whence 
may blaze the unextinguishable flame of requit- 
ed love No ; it cannot be : — Custom, hate- 
ful custom, thou art my bane, and Mary must 

be lost to Chatelar ! — lost to him for ever ! 

For ever ! — Oh, horror — inexpressible ! — words 
of death ! — Hold, my brain, least burning mad- 
ness seize me. ***** 
******* 

Faint and weak I arise 
from my pallet — all has been at peace-— a torpid 
chill ran through my burning veins— and I've 
been wafted to Elysium.™ Oh ! had I awoke no 
more ! for then the last memorial of my fate 
had now been registered.— And yet, should I 
not have lost my queen I — What ideas now flash 



10 CHATELAR. 

upon my intellects ! — Death ! what art thou ? — 
A dream, a separation from all functions of this 
world — but, shall we know our friends in hea- 
ven — shall we love ? — All must be love ; there- 
fore my paradise in heaven will be my queen. — 
For her I'll barter all the bliss futurity may have 
in store ; for in the balance they might counter- 
poise the very heaven of heavens ! Impiety ! 

— Who calls me impious ? — was I not framed 
the creature of love ; and is not love my reli- 
gion ? — yes ; all is love with me, and therefore 
all futurity may have to grant concentrates in 
my queen. 



CHATELAR. V7 



FRAGMENT 111. 



W hat have I now to register, but the hateful 
names of those who are my deadly enemies ? — In 
all the lustre of Aurora dressed, my queen ap- 
peared ; all Edinborough seemed illumined with 
the radiance of her charms — I was alone the 
gloomy object of sullen melancholy — D'Anville 
too appeared with more than usual grace, and 
Mary smiled upon him. Oh ! how the dag- 
gers pierced my soul, at every glance bestowed 
upon my friend ; — Hamilton's great Earl was also 
there, array'd in all the pomp of proud nobility, 
and with him came his youthful son, the Earl of 
Arran.* — I marked his eye — I saw the rosy hue 



* The young Earl of Arran was one of the lovers of 
Mary ; and, from his rank, and the wealth of his father, he 
aspired to possess her person, and the crown of Scotland ; 
but the ambitious views of the parent, and the love of the 
young EarJ, were alike unsuccessful, although the boldest 
steps were put in practice to obtain her. 
C 



18 CHATELAR. 

mantle his comely face, as he beheld the form of 
lovely Mary* — He approached her, and on his 
knee made reverence to his queen beside his 
aged sire. — She smiled upon him — yes; raised 
him with a look of sweet beneficence — I sicken- 
ed at the sight, and at that instant my fire-flash- 
ing eyes fixed on D'Anville. — Oh ! if conflicting 
passions wrung my soul, I had a partner in my 
sufferings — yes ! — the Marechal walked hand-in- 
hand with Chatelar in misery. — Where was then 
the distinction of rank and title — D'Anville, the 
great, the noble D'Anville, was as wretched as 
the creature whom he styles his slave ? — I hailed 
the convincing auspice — 1 bowed more awe- 
struck before this soul-subduer, this almighty 
love. — A paleness, like the livery of death, o'er- 
spread the features of my friend— -black despair 
and fiery jealousy shot from his eyes by turns ; 
they were the indexes of his soul; they were 
emanations of the consuming agonies of Chate- 
lar. 

Ah ! were this but all, a spotless day amid my 
calendar of woe would have transpired ; but 
more was left behind to wound the heart of 
D'Anville; more yet remained to torture the 
wretched Chatelar. 

Amid the splendid crowd came the great Earl 
of Huntley, and with him the paragon of excel- 
lence in man : It was his son, the youthful Gor- 



CHATELAR. lp 

don — Heavens ! what majesty was in his port ; 
his shape was symmetry, and his countenance man- 
ly and open as the face of day. — Upon his knees 
he came to greet his queen ; but as he knelt, 
such grace was in his motion, that had Apollo's 
self been there, the god had been a Gordon. 

Must 1 note it down? — accursed moment !~~ 
yes ; Mary gazed upon him, looked upon young 
Gordon,* and with such a glance as spoke inter- 



* John Gordon, the Earl of Huntley's son, was esteem- 
ed the handsomest youth in Scotland ; and it is recorded, 
that he was as accomplished in mind as he was perfect in 
symmetry of form. He fell passionately in love with Mary, 
and it is pretty obvious from history, that she was not blind 
to his perfections. The two families of Huntley and Ha- 
milton were consequently inveterate foes., as the two young 
heirs to the titles both aspired to ally themselves to the 
queen by the bond of marriage. The intrigues of the 
court at length precipitated the unfortunate young Gordon 
into the most daring actions; and having recourse to arras, 
he was taken prisoner, when Mary was by compulsion oblig- 
ed to affix her sign manual to the warrant for his execution; 
and, that it might appear she had never felt a passion for 
Gordon, his enemies, who had every ascendancy over the 
unfortunate Mary, forced her to be personally present at 
the execution : in order to which, she was stationed at a 
balcony, commanding a view of the horrid scene. The 
lovely John Gordon, after protesting his unalterable love, 
and extolling the beauty of Mary, addressed himself to her 
from the scaffold, saying, that she was the most lovely but 
cruel of her sex ; when, resigning himself to his fate, the 

c 2 



20 CHATELÀR. 

nal admiration of his beauty ; the glow that rob- 
ed her cheek came and returned with such pre- 
cipitancy, that all who saw her with the eyes of 
Chatelar must have confessed her soul was 
fraught with love— yes ; D'Anville confessed it, 
and his bleeding heart sickened with Chatelar's 
at the contending agonies which wrung it. 

But if Mary loved, Gordon became her lover 
also ; his eyes, each gesture of his countenance, 
the very motion of his body spoke his soul ; 'twas 
fettered in the rosy chains of love, and illumined 
with his poignant dart. Detested rival ! un- 
happy Chatelar, when will thine anguished bo- 
som find repose — when will thine eye-lids close 
in tranquil sleep ?— never, oh ! never, never !— 
peace was ne'er made for Chatelar ; sleep hath 
forsaken him ; D'Anville too will rest no more, 
and Arran's Earl must share with me the bitter- 
ness of conflicting jealousy — we are slaves ; 'tis 
Gordon lords it o'er us — he is the chosen son of 
light, and we must wander in chaotic gloom. — 
Oh ! for Medusa's serpent-locks, the eye of basi- 
lisk, or the thunderbolt of Jove, that I might 
hurl destruction on him -.—Revenge lights up my 

executioner severed his head from his body, while Mary, 
overcome by the poignancy of feelings arising from the 
struggles of pity and love, fell lifeless into the arms of her 
attendants, who bore her from the shocking sight. 



CHATELAR, 21 

soul; furies are in my heart; curses are on my 
tongue ; rage is in my soul, and death within my 
grasp ; not all the host of hell is half so terrible 
as thou, O Gordon ! * * * * 

Peace, peace, fell furies ; 
down accursed, malign revenge; for not unto 
thee, Oh Gordon ! should be attributed the 
blame. — Thou didst not mould thyself in manly 
majesty, or give to every action witching grace : 
— No, no ; nature and love conjoined to frame 
thy matchless symmetry ; and beauty hath given 
thee all it could bestow-— yes : for thou hast 
Mary's heart, and having that, not Paris, with 
his boasted Helen, was so doubly bless'd ; for 
thou art master of the goddess, not her gift. 

Hark ! 'twas D'Anville's bitter groan disturb- 
ed the solemn stillness of the hour ; for Chatelar 

is not alone condemned. Gratitude, I thank 

thee ; for thou hast infused a balm within the 
bitter draught that curdled all within me— yes : 
the memory of my benefactor's pangs have tran- 
quilized my mind. — D'Anville is unfortunate, and 
Chatelar owes D'Anville gratitude.— Beneficent 
emanation of the Divinity ! thou comest to my 
woe-worn heart like dew-drops from on high, that 
feed the parched-up lily of the field; or, like 
the melody of that sweet songster of the night, 
which, wafted on the stilly breeze of spring, af- 
fords a melancholy comfort to the mother weep- 
c 3 



22 CHATELAR. 

ing the loss of her departed babe.— Not unto 
these alone may'st thou compare heart-thrilling 
gratitude; for thou art kindred to God, and 
dwellest with the angellic host. 

Still to court peace, and lull my senses for a 
transitory period, I will invoke my muse; for 
poetry can sooth the saddened breast, and harmo- 
nize the contending feelings ; it is the music of 
the mind, the language of the soul, which played 
upon, yields, like the silv'ry-chorded lute, when 
touched by Mary's ' witching finger, a harmony 
divine. 



CHATELAR. 23 

BALLAD 

TO MY QUEEN. 



An ! say not winter's winds blow bleak, 
Nor tax the snow and drifting rain ; 

They'll blight the roses of the cheek, 
But never give the bosom pain. 

Ah ! blame not age's icy dart, 
For nought so marble-cold can be 

As Mary's unrelenting heart, 
For she can pity all but me. 

Ah ! curse not fortune's wav'ring mind, 
For nought so fickle e'er can prove 

As she who blights with frown unkind 
The child of truth and matchless love. 

Oh Arran ! thou hast pow'r and state 
To cancel ev'ry hope of mine — 

Oh Gordon ! thou art bless'd by fate 
With manly form and port divine. 

Yet, though eclips'd by state and pow'r, 
Nor these or beauty can controul 

Those flames which ev'ry sense devour, 
That passion which enslaves my soul. 



c 4 



CHATELAR. 25 



FRAGMENT IF. 



How vain are all the efforts of human reason, 
when put in competition with the impetuous 
flood of despair ; like a barrier incessantly wash- 
ed by the torrent, it resists for a time only to fall 
with more vehemence beneath the overwhelming 
tide. 1 see her ; I am for ever in her pre- 
sence ; I live in the beam of her eye; I bask in 
the sunshine of her beauty — yes ; I am for ever 
in the presence of my adored queen, my august 
and lovely sovereign. — Oh Gordon ! my throb- 
bing heart, my woe-worn countenance, beholds 
thee with unutterable anguish ; thy rank, thy 
wealth, but more than all, thy form and Mary's 
affection give thee a claim which the unhappy 

Chatelar can never aspire to.' But, what are 

claims ? they ha\e no tie upon love ; they can- 
n: t nip the blossoms of the heart, nor blight its 
fond pretensions : Chatelar may therefore love, 
though he is denied e'en hope.— Is it, then, one 



26 CHATELAH. 

dreary blank ; am I henceforth to look on life 
but as one dreary waste, a trackless desert ; and 
is all before me withered and accursed ?— My 
brain cannot withstand the horrid contempla- 
tion ; my blood feels the quick revulsion, and 
rushes with tenfold more precipitancy to my 
heart; and yet, my languishing but sickened 
fancy struggles to present once more in thought 
the beauty and enchantment of my lovely queen. 
Ah ! what a glance, what a stolen but rap- 
turous gaze I this day bent upon her features !— 
Yes ! I devoured in speechless amazement the 
soul-subduing charms; I pant but to enjoy, and 
then expire with rapture.— Her chamber— Yes; 
I passed it ; I caught the blissful moment when, 
absorbed in meditation, she thought herself a- 

lone Ah ! that chamber ! Where is the rash 

being who would venture to seek repose within 
that sanctuary of love and beauty ? I would 
tear him from existence — Yes ! I could refine on 
savage cruelty; the monster should be blotted 
from the race of men ; for who can dare contend 
with me the rivalship of a scene too mighty even 
for my glowing senses ? * * * 

* * * * This rosary was the 
theft of love,— surely 'tis forgiven; I stole the 
secret moment, and in the absence of my love 
I made myself possessor of these beads unseen. — 
Heavenly powers ! they were Mary's ; her ivory 



CHATELAR. 27 

fingers, with love-thrilling touch, have pressed 
these little amber studs ; her lips ! love, love, 
omniscient love ! her lips too have kissed them ! 
Come, come to mine — thus — and thus ; — and thus 
I scent their fragrance, and I suck their sweets ! 
— Oh, balmy essence! nectareous juice ! ting'd 
with the vermil die of those moist rubies, which 
moving utter dulcet music, and dispense around 

the violet's rich perfume. O ! mouth more 

exquisite than fragrant May ! more luscious than 
the busy bee's rich store ! thus, then, I taste thee ; 
for nought that thou hast pressed can ever be be- 
reft of sweets.— Mary too has knelt, while pres- / 
sing this rosary to her lips — sink, then, my obedi- 
ent knees, and learn, O Chatelar ! to offer up thy 
orison. — But, ah ! to what a summit must I rear 
my humid eyes, ere I can obtain one faint ray of 
light that may illumine my prayers, and render 
them as acceptable as Mary's at the Throne of 
Grace ; still will I pray ; these beads will surely 
give me inspiration ; for they were an angel's, 
and mercy is the first, the greatest attribute of 
Heaven. 



CHATELAR. 29 



FRAGMENT V. 



I thought myself the most accursed of be- 
ings ; throughout the wide world's expanse I did 
not imagine there existed one so hapless as Cha- 

telar. Ah ! D'Anville, my friend, my patron, / 

and my benefactor, what are now thy thoughts ì 
Who can picture all thy sum of wretchedness ?— 
They banish * thee, they force thee from the ob- 

* The Earl of Hamilton, and the Earl of Huntley, anxi- 
ous for the success of their respective sons, and witnessing 
the noble qualifications of the Marechal D'Anville, and the 
pointed marks of attention manifested towards him by 
Mary, determined on banishing so formidable a rival ; and 
to effect this, through their interest a very old and obsolete 
law was put in force, banishing all such as were residents in 
Scotland, being foreigners by birth ; this order of course 
comprehended the Marechal D'Anville, who was compel- 
led to quit Scotland, leaving his secretary, Chatelar, who 
was by birth a Scotchman, to forward all his communica- 
tions to the queen, and, by his poetry, and every other 
means he could devise, preserve his memory fresh in her 
mind. 



30 CHATELAR. 

ject of thine adoration ; awe-struck at thy per- 
fections, the Earls of Hamilton and Huntley 
drive thee hence unto thy native shore ; for thou 
art a foe too puissant to escape their, rancour 
and their jealousy — Yes ! Arran fears thee — nay, 
even Gordon, anxious for more bliss than 'longs 
to mortal man, envies a smile conferred on any 
but himself. 

Wretched D'Anville, fortunate Chatelar ; and 
yet not so : for I must either wrong the best of 
friends, or plead his cause against mine own 
Cruel fate !-« What ! can I stain my soul with 
base dishonour ? Can Chatelar, schooPd in vir- 
tue and in truth, descend to vile deception ? Can 
he forget his lord and benefactor ? — Never ! no, 
never be it said I stoop'd to such detested mean- 
ness.— I will be just— I will be generous; nor 
wrong the heart that fostered me.— But, ah ! how 
little thinks my friend the task he has imposed ; 
how little knows he the workings of that breast, 
to which he has confided all the raging madness 
of his own. 

He hath but now retired, I will not say to rest ; 
for he, like Chatelar, forgets the name of sleep ; 
within his trembling hand he grasped the fatal 
mandate for his banishment— madness was in his 
eye; death overspread his cheek; despair and 
love marked every gesture — —Oh ! my heart 
still bleeds for his distress ; and for his quiet I 



CHALELAR. 3! 

would barter my peace, my liberty, my life — 
nay, every thing but love ! 

D'Anville must quit her — he must tear himself 
from happiness ! — Great God! and what could 
tear away poor Chatelar ? — Nothing ! — nothing 
but his will; and yet all are superior in their 
claims to Chatelar, who in his turn lords it o'er 
them in love. 

D'Anville is noble — yes; he possesses every 
attribute to claim a queen ; but then, he has a 
wife already. — Oh ! had that all-potent spell not 
bound my lord — even thou, O Gordon ! wouldst 
have wept unheeded, and forlorn. 

Proud Arran, riches are thine, and rank and 
title thou commandest to merit such alliance; 
and yet the bliss evades thy fervent grasp. 

Thou too, O Gordon! hast title, riches, man- 
ly beauty, and perfections rare — nay, and pre- 
ference from the angel thou adorest. — To coun- 
terpoise all these, behold poor Chatelar: nor 
wealth, nor title, nor exquisite endowments, un- 
to him belong— love is his fortune, love his title, 
and love his only claim to merit Mary's favour. 
— To the frigid world 'tis poverty ; with Chatelar 
'tis every thing, if it can but purchase one ray 
of commiseration from the goddess of his soul. 

To-morrow's sun lights D'Anville to his fate; 
he quits his idol — quits her, perhaps, for ever ! 
while the unregarded Chatelar remains to bask 



32 CHATELAR. 

in the full radiance of Mary's charms — nay, and 
perhaps the predilection for my lord may prompt 
her more than ever to indulge my fervent wishes 
in her presence — yes ! — I will plead the cause of 
D'Anville, but the effusions must be those of 
Chatelar ; I will read my love-sick tales as in be- 
half of him I serve ; but if my eyes and falter- 
ing tongue betray me, love is to blame, not Cha- 
telar. 

Methinks I see expectant Arran glorying in 
the defeat of D'Anville, and lording it o'er my 
benefactor's misfortunes. — I could annihilate the 
monster who felt pleasure at his miseries; for 
even I — yes, Chatelar, who has most cause for 
joy at his dismissal, because he has the least ex- 
pectancy — even he can pity D'Anville.— - But 7 
ah ! fond youth, thy bitter foe remains behind ; 
Arran must still encounter Gordon, and Gordon 
too must meet a Chatelar. If I must perish, let 
me nobly meet my fate ; let me expire beneath 
the arm of Gordon, or Gordon yield to mine ; 
for he alone remains to harrow up my frenzied 
thoughts, and plant within my soul the sting of 
lasting jealousy.— Corrosive madness ! infer- 
nal fiend! — What art thou, Jealousy? — Thou 
mak'st me almost deny the heavenly attributes of 
love ; for thou art its sure attendant, and what 
can taste more than thee of dire damnation ?--- 
Hold, hold, the bitter hath its sweet ; the rose 



CHATELAR. 33 

its thorn; the gilded snake its poison and its 
sting : — What is more sweet, more fragrant, or 
more witching to the sense, than love ? — Our 
cup is mingled, and to our every drop of bliss 
ensues a sea of woe. — Love is on earth the ex- 
tacy of pleasure, and jealousy the dire excess of 
pain : nature ordains that one should counter- 
poise the other, and he who has the most of love, 
must feel the more acutely jealousy. 

But is it just, that Chatelar should bear the 
galling anguish without expectancy; that he 
should pine unheeded and forlorn, even where 
most he would be unconcealed ? must he be 
doom'd to witness foe succeeding foe, and live 
upon his groans, his tears, and jealousy, without 
the bold confession of his flame ? — perish the 
thought! — She shall — yes! Mary, my queen, 
shall know the pangs of Chatelar ; for that, and 
that alone, may yield me victory — yes ; for 
Mary has a soul for tenderness and soft commi- 
seration. — I need it now ; the busy fancy recon- 
ciles impossibilities, and, as the mariner who 
feebly grasps the plank surrounded by a sea of 
deadly horrors, so Chatelar, amid the gloom of 
black despair, illumines the fallacious torch of 
hope, and wanders ki the mazes of gilded fal- 
lacy. 

Ah ! Hope, thou flitting phantom, thou gaudy 
illusion, thou fond misleader of the wrecked sen- 

D 



34 CHATELAR. 

ses, that fram'st a paradise of airy nothingness, 
canst thou in pleasing dreams still picture possi- 
bility to D'Anville as to me ? if so, thou art the 
veriest cozener of created beings, the ignis fatuus 
of existence, and man should drive thee hence 
with reason's icy lash, and chain thee in the fa- 
thomless depths of everlasting oblivion. 

Why am I ? wherefore was Chatelar created ■? 
to whom are his praises due ? — scarce nineteen 
summers yet have mark'd my pilgrimage of life, 
and I am doom'd to love, and love in vain. — Oh ! 
that I could drive the demon, melancholy, from 
me ; that fiend, who now sits hovering o'er my 
soul, affrighting every gleam that might afford 

me comfort. No ! not e^en the air- framed 

phantom of my queen can chace the gloom away. 
— Life is all a blank to me ; for reason bids me 
cease to hope. — Better be warm'd by madness, 
than chill'd by coward fear ; better burn with 
jealousy, than die the silent fool of black despair — 
yes ! — I see him, he smiles ; Gordon, the happy 
Gordon, mocks my grief, and Mary, cruel Mary, 
sanctions all — yes ! her eyes beam heaven upon 
him ; Gordon is bless'd, and Chatelar accursed 

for ever. The flame is kindled in my veins ; 

'tis the murderous hour of night; furies now 
prowl ; in church-yards beldams sing their in- 
cantations ; and Chatelar too is the slave of jea- 
lousy. ****** 



CHATELAR. 35 



TO THE DEMON, JEALOUSY. 



To such as feel the body's pain, 

And cry with anguish, I would say — 

With joy your agonies sustain; 
For I am sufPring more than they. 

To such as feel the weight of care, 
And curse the world with bitter tear, 

I fain would say — your sorrows bear j 
For agony is only here. 

If any rail at Fortune cross'd, 

Td say, your wealth you may regain; 
But all my peace and joy are lost — 

My days are woe, my nights are pain. 

If death of parent, or of wife, 
If loss of infant, or of friend, 

Assail the mind , yet still the strife 
May wear away — mine hath no end. 

Nor malice, or revenge can live/ 

Like those fell pangs which I endure; 

For time may teach them to forgive, 
But time my woes can never cure, 

D2 



36 



CHATELAR. 



To say what can surpass all these, 
And prove that torture lives in me, 

It is that sting which knows no ease — 
The pang of hell-fraught Jealousy. 




CHATELAR. 37 



FRAGMENT VI. 



i-yHATELAR, thou hast drained the sluices of 
thine eyes, and not a tear remains to commise- 
rate thine own distress. — For D'Anville thou hast 
wept ; for him whose friendship fostered thee, / 
and whose rank protected thee ; for him who 
bids these shores adieu for ever, hast thou render- 
ed the flood of agonizing woe. 

This morn he took a solemn sad farewel of 
lovely Mar} 7 ; upon her beauteous hand he left 
the parting kiss, and with it fell a pearly tear, 
that sparkled like the May-morn gem upon the 
lily's spotless bosom. — Heavens! what sadness 
mantled Mary's brow ; what pale dejection clad 
the features of my lord. — He look'd, as did our 
first parent, Adam, when at the portals of the 
paradise he'd forfeited ; he gazed upon the ste- 
rile expanse that surrounded him, a monumental 
effigy of fix'd despair. 

The Marechal in silence left the queen; he 
strove to speak, but utterance was denied him ; 
D 3 



38 CHATELAR. 

yet, ah ! what language was there in his manly 
eye, which to the last bent languishingly on the 
queen. Can it be?— Yes! — Chatelar confes- 
ses, that pity stifled envy in his breast; he felt 
not for himself, but for D'Anville. 

Supported on my arm my wretched lord, with 
an unsteady step and downcast look, bent his 
course towards his chamber. — Still was he speech- 
less, and still within his hand he clasped mine 
own ; he fixed his gaze upon me, and, after vent- 
ing forth a struggling groan, he thus bespoke 
me : — 

" Dear youth, my friend, my Chatelar, would 
" that I might exchange with thee the bliss of 
-" still remaining here, and sighing out existence 
" 'fore the queen of love. — Thou know'st my 
" soul — but, ah ! thou know'st not all the pangs 
" which it endures, my Chatelar. — To thee must 
" I commit my fate ; plead for me, my friend ; 
" and, if in language is to be conjured up, expres- 
" sion bold enough to picture all my anguish, 
" then let that language be my friend's. — Speak 
" of my love, my grief, my madness, and my 

" jealousy Oh ! detested bondage that en- 

" slaves me — accursed tie which has for ever 
" link'd me to another ! — Had I not worn those 
" fetters, Mary perchance might have been mine, 
" and 1 for ever blessed with love and inexpres- 
" sive extacy." 



CHATELAR. 39 

D'Anville arose, he threw his arms around 
me, and manly tears flowed fast upon me ; mine 
too kept them company, and every blessing of 
gratitude rush'd impetuously upon my soul. 

" Farewel, farewel, my Chatelar !" D'An- 
ville exclaimed ; lt thy friend commits his heart 
" to thee— Adieu, and Heaven for ever guard 
" thee/' 

The Marechal rush'd from the chamber, his 
attendants awaited below their lord's approach ; 
I uttered a sad farewel to him I reverence, but 
my streaming tears forbad my attendance on 

him. From yonder casement, through which 

the moon now throws its steady ray, I saw the 
miserable D'Anville vault his steed ; first towards 
the lattice of Queen Mary's room he turned his 
glistening eye — he saw not the object which he 
sought; towards poor Chatelar bis gaze then turn- 
ed ; he placed his hand upon his heart, then rear- 
ed it towards heaven:— 'twas the signal of his 
love, and unto me a lesson of fidelity.— Again 
towards the queen of love he turned his wistful 
look— he beheld her; D'Anville gazed upon the 
bright star of day ; taking his bonnet from his 
brow, he waved it thrice in air, and wafting as 
love's messenger one parting sigh, he quickly dis- 
appeared. 

Thus parted D'Anville from the heavenly maid, 
and thus is Chatelar by friendship bound to plead 
d 4 



40 CHATELAR. 

his cause — yes ; now shall I be permitted to at- 
tend the source of all my extacy and all my pain ; 
in private I shall view her, and feed upon her 
rapturous charms; sing ditties to her listening 
ear, and speak the language of my breast with- 
out controul. Dares Chatelar require more 

joy ; should I not for ever bless that fate which 
gives to me what it denies D'Anville^ which even 
will allow the presence of Chatelar, when favour- 
ed Gordon's self is not permitted to approach ? — 
'Tis too much— heaven opens to my panting 
brain— I live, I bask in love !— Can the warm 
poet's fancy picture to my senses such elysium as 
I feel ? — Where is such light as Mary's eyes dis- 
pense ; where is the fragrance of her breath — 
the music of her voice — the symmetry of her 
form — the graceful motion of each limb — and 
that enchanting smile that plays around her ro- 
seat lip ? — To live within the vortex of all these 
surpasses what my sick'ning soul could hope for. 
— A rhapsody of joy entrances me — I am not of 
this earth ; 'tis not in this sublunary state to feel 
as I do! * * * * * * 

* * * * I faint 'tis rap- 
ture Mary! My queen! My love — 

my love — — 



CHATELAR. 41 

AIR. 

TRISTE AMOUR.* 



Une reine est maitresse de raoa cacur ; 
Elle reigne part tout, 
Car ses beaux yaeux, 
Sont les deux sceptres de Paraour; 
Et quand vers raoi ils tournent leurs brillantes flames, 
Le feu d'amour s'empare de tout mon ame. 

Heneux si j'etois souverain, 
De tout le ciel 
Peut etre elle, 
Ne voudras pas que j'aime en vain ; 
Mais comme je suis en silence je soupire 
J'ose bien aimer, mais je n'ose pas le dire. 



* The annexed French ballad is conjectured to be that al- 
luded to by Chatelar in the ensuing fragment ; and it ap- 
pears, that this effusion was the first written by the unfortu- 
nate youth after the departure of his patron, the Marechai 
D'Anviile, from the court of Scotland : it is certainly ex- 
pressive of the most fervent love and adoration, and the 
conclusive couplet is peculiarly applicable to the hopeless 
flituation of the unfortunate writer. The editor has given 
this little composition as a specimen of the original produc- 
tions of Chatelar, to which he has subjoined his translation^ 



42 CHÀTELAR. 



AIR. 

TRANSLATION. 

A queen is mistress of my soul ; 
I idolize 

Her brilliant eyes, 
Love's sceptres which all hearts controul ; 
And when tow'rd me their ardent fires they turn, 
Love's flames within my breast more furious burn* 

Were I but sov'reign of the sky, 
Her love might be 
Conferr'd on me, 
And I unheeded should not sigh ; 
But as I am, in silence I must feel 
Love's sacred flame, and vet that flame conceal. 



and from this specimen he conceives, it will appear obvious 
how far inferior his attempts at imitation are to the original 
productions in the French language. 



CHATELAR. 43 



FRAGMENT VII. 



A day of uninterrupted bliss has now tran- 
spired—Oh ! let me chronicle the welcome truth, 
and chequer with the renovating smile of love 
one page of that great book which has hitherto 
been sullied by bitter misfortune. 

This morn a summons called me to my queen : 
Mary deigned to invite poor Chatelar, who, on 
the wings of timid hope, expectancy, and love, 
obeyed the welcome mandate. As I entered, 
a single female attendant waited her commands, 
when, scarcely had my trembling knee paid her 
the homage due, ere Mary dismissed her. Upon 
the left-hand rested the lovely cheek of my god- 
dess, her taper fingers being partly concealed by 
the profusion of auburn hair that flowed in wavy 
tresses upon her milk-hue' d bosom; her right- 
arm in graceful negligence rested upon the flow- 
ing drapery of sable velvet wherewith she was 
arrayed; it looked like Farian marble embossed 



44 CHATELAR. 

on jett, while her hand, on which were visible the 
faintest streaks of azure hue, held the divine ef- 
fusions of Petrarch to his Laura well beloved. 
From beneath her robe stole forth her little foot, 
and, to heighten still more the blissful enchant- 
ment, her exquisitely formed ancle was just ob- 
servable, speaking the perfect symmetry that 
reigned above. — She gazed upon me— yes; she 
looked with kindness on Chatelar, while her 
moistened lips just moved the order for my quit- 
ting the prostrate position I had assumed, when 
thus my queen continued : 

" Chatelar, thou art the highly-favoured of the 
" Marechal D'Anville ; he hath spoken much of 
*' thy deserts, and prayed me to look kindly on 
" thee. He hath also made known thy love of 
" poetry and music, and, to sooth the hour of 
" sweet retirement, have 1 therefore summoned 
" thee into my presence. — Take then the lute, 
u and to the melody of some plaintive air attune 
" its dulcit chords, to kill the sadness of my 
" soul/' 

I bowed obedience;— exquisite moment which 
enabled me to breathe my love-sick pain. — I took 
the lute — my voice was softened into more than 
mortal thrill*-— my trembling fingers scarcely 
touched the strings. — I sung the melancholy dit- 
ty, Triste Amour Yes ! even Mary was sur- 
prised ; such mighty power had Love within me, 



CHATELAR. 45 

that he commanded admiration from my queen. 
This little effusion of my brain gave satisfaction 
to the goddess of my soul, and she continued im- 
movable, save when her hand was raised to wipe 
away a glistening tear, that rendered her azure 
eye more witchingly enchanting.— I know not 
what was in my voice, but every gesture must 
have spoke the language of my breast; my soul 
o'erflowed with keen delight ; and with quick 
palpitation my fluttering heart made the response 
to every swell of Mary's lovely bosom.— I ceas- 
ed ; and as the cadence died away, a sigh from 
my o'ercharged bosom eased the acuteness of my 
bliss, which almost stifled utterance. 

A pause ensued ; my queen seemed lost in me- 
ditation, while I devoured in speechless rapture 
the world of bliss before me. — Raising her eyes 
at length she fixed them on my countenance, say- 
ing, in a melting tone of voice 

" The Marechal has not o'er-rated thy abili- 
" ties, Chatelar, and I shall become a constant 
u intruder on thy kind condescension ; say, were 
" those lines the effusions of thy pen, which did 
" but now accompany the air thou sangst ?" 

Yes; Mary deigned to ask the question— -nay 
more, she hath required of me a transcript of 
my ditty, as token of her approbation. — Who 
can be more favoured than Chatelar ? Can there 
be showered on mortal man a greater blessing ? 



46 CHATELAR. 

Again she bad me strike the lute, when at that 
moment the volume of Petrarch fell from her 
hand; I sprang forward to raise it from the 
ground, my royal mistress too had bent her love- 
ly form towards it — I seized the precious volume 
which had been rendered inestimable by her 
touch, and, turning hastily, presented it upon 
my knee But, at that instant — Oh ! heaven- 
ly sight ? — Yes ! Mary's reclining posture gave 
to my eyes the swelling riches of her neck and 
bosom. — A momentary annihilation seized me ; 
every pulse was immovable ; the current of my 
blood was stopped, and my fainting heart forgot 

its wonted palpitation. God ! what a sight ! 

they sweli'd like snowy orbs crowned with two 
blushing rose-buds of the fragrant spring. 

" No, Chatelar," breath'd my goddess with a 
smile, " Petrarch shall be thine :" — Mary pre- 
sented me the volume ; I bowed, and as I hid it 
in my bosom, my heart just palpitating whis- 
pered — 

" Oh ! let me then live for love and Laura." 

I raised the lute; my senses were scattered ; 
all recollection wandered in the mazes of forget- 
fulness ; — my fingers too forgot their wonted mo- 
tion ; I was annihilated to every sensation but 
rapturous love ! — It must have been perceptible; 
Mary could not but witness all the conflict of 
my mind. Generous, gentle creature; she 



CHATELAR. 47 

did not frown at my distress, nor did her tongue 
repeat the wish of hearing me. 

My recollection again returned ; 'twas grati- 
tude then swelled my soul to tears; benignity 
was in Mary's eye.— Almighty love can only tell 
what passed within my heart ; heaven can alone 
unfold what must have struck the soul of my 
adored, on witnessing my agitation. I would 
have offered an excuse — the words were on my 
lips, but they refused to utter aught but truth, 
and truth would have been love. I struck the 
string, and in the extacy that entranced my soul, 
thus gave to sound the momentary bliss which 
had enraptured me.™ 

BALLAD. 

Ah .! cruel love, why rove unseen ? 
In myrtle fetters bind the queen, 

Who shuns a humble youth; 
On wanton pinions send thy dart, 
Fresh purpled from my bleeding heart, 

And wing'd with matchless truth. 

So should I reign o'er ev'ry charm, 
Nor feel dread jealousy's alarm, 

But taste of joys above. 
I ask not wealth, or to be great, 
With her I'd scorn the frowns of fate, 

And only live for love. 



48 CHATELAR. 

I dared not raise mine eyes, fearful of meet- 
ing the glance of her I loved ; methought I had 
been too presumptuous, and my blood turned icy 
cold, till Mary's sweet words infused reanima- 
tion. — 

" The voice that yields such melody ," said my 
queen, " must be as capable of reading as of 
"harmony; take, then, these manuscripts of 
" Ronsard, * and let me listen to his verse/' 
As she spoke she gave into my hand the volume 
which contained the pleasing strains ; I read, and 
at each pause my ear was greeted with some kind 

word of praise for my endeavour. Here let 

me pause awhile ; the day of bliss I passed de- 
fies the aid of language ; there is no tongue, no 
unison of sounds so sweety as can convey the 
harmony of the love-entranced soul. Sweet- 
est of poets ! Petrarch revered, now rendered 
even more divine by the gentle giver's touch ; 

* The French poet, Ronsard, lived in the time of Mary 
Queen of Scots, and was very popular in his native coun- 
try : He flourished under Charles the Ninth, then King of 
France, and the Editor, therefore, conjectures that the ac- 
complished Mary, anxious to become possessed of the ef- 
fusions of a living genius, (with whose writings the French 
court were conversant) must have made application to 
Ronsard, from whom she received the manuscripts here al- 
luded to. There are old editions of the works of Ronsard 
still extant in the French language. 






CHATELAH. 49 

come to my soul, and let me feast upon the ma- 
gic music of thy heavenly numbers, till the soft 
soother of the senses lulls my soul to rest with 
dreams of bliss and Mary.— Come too sweet ro- 
sary, and rest thee on my heart, for poesy shall 
be my prayer, since my divinity is love. 

To-morrow, in robed majesty, my queen re- 
ceives the titled subjects of her realm — yes ; in 
state I shall behold her, and think with smiles of 
joy on all the happiness of this bless'd day, while 
Arran, and aspiring Gordon too, can only sigh 
their fond desires in cold respect and awe-struck 

admiration. Triumphant thought! more 

grateful to my senses than sweetest music to the 
sadden'd soul, or soothing sleep to glare-eyed 

watchful madness. Peace rocks my soul ; all 

heaven is in my mind ; rapture swells my breast ; 
blessings are on my tongue ; while dimpled love 
with glowing arrow paints the form of Mary on 
my bleeding heart. 



CHATELAR. 51 



FRAGMENT VI1L 



It has transpired — the day of grandeur now is 
closed, and Chatelar is left to give his feelings 
unrestrained vent. -Amid this morning's pa- 
geantry how pensive was my soul; my youth- 
ful mind, dead to the feelings which should mark 
my age, felt not even one solitary desire to min- 
gle with the gaudy throng : enfolded in the arms 
of love I stood, nor deigned to cast a thought on 
sublunary greatness. 

The goddess of my adoration, decked in sub- 
limest majesty, commanded admiration from the 
noble throng : Arran and Gordon strove for mas- 
tery, but her smiles were diffused on all alike, 
and neither seemed to gain pre-eminence. — As 
when the beaming eye of day casts all around 
its noontide lustre, reanimating every plant with 
the same fostering and invigorating ray, so did 
my queen dispense around the soften'd lustre of 
her azure eyes to gladden each observer. 
£2 



52 CHATELAR. 

Arran desponding, from the presence of his 
queen retired, and Gordon's brow, overshadowed 
by the gloom of pensive melancholy, gave signal 
token of the anguish that preyed within his soul. 
Chatelar, the seemingly despised, neglected Cha- 
telar, was alone at peace, and feasted mentally 
on hope and love. 

To-morrow I shall see the lovely Mary — yes ; 
to-morrow, freed from restraint and courtly ma- 
jesty, my queen will deign to look upon me; her 
ears will listen to my fervent love :— Oh ! would 
that she devined, and cherished in her breast, the 

truth which this fond soul avows. Hope gilds 

my fancy, and 1 breathe again. — But, ah ! what 
do my warm desires infuse — what is it 1 wish 
for ? — To languish in the arms of her 1 love— to 

die on Mary's bosom ? Heavens ! what new 

ideas now flash upon my brain— that volume of 



* Francis Petrarch was a native of Arezzo, in Italy, 
and was born in 1304. He w as a refined scholar, and the 
most classical poet of his time : Being at Avignon, he 
there first beheld the beautiful Laura, a married lady of 
that city, in whose praise so many of his effusions were 
composed ; but so romantic was the passion of Petrarch, 
and so fervent his love, that, it is said, he was in her com- 
pany but once during the period of twenty years, content- 
ing himself with beholding her in the streets of the city, 
where chance so ordained itt ha the should meet her. Pe- 
trarch, to indulge his melancholy, retired to a romantic 



CHATELAR. 53 

thy love, Petrarch,* should instruct me how to 
feel supremely happy. — Thou hadst not even 
hope ; thy Laura was another's ; and thou the 
votary of pure religion. — Twas given me by my 
queen— yes ; this volume is the lesson of true 
love, and Chatelar must learn to live a new Pe- 
trarch. — Blighted in celestial joy, thy brow, 
sweet poet, wore the blooming wreath of honour 
— yes ; 'twas thou who from Apollo took'st the 
lyre, and with such plaintive sweetness tuned the 
string to love's soft note, as gave thee everlasting 
fame. — Teach me, like thee, to live for ages on a 
look, and hang with rapture on the air-drawn 
form of her I reverence. — Am I not more bles- 
sed than tongue can tell, or ardent fancy picture 

to the senses ? Come Petrarch, come kind 

physician of my doating soul ; from thy delicious 



spot near Avignon, called Vaucluse ; but he was called 
from this seclusion by two embassies ; the one from the 
Roman senate, the other from the University of Paris, 
both being desirous of crowning him the Prince of Poets. 
Petrarch, to use his own expression, chose Rome for his co- 
ronation, as being ■* the capital of the world, the queen of 
cities '" and he in consequence was invested with this ho- 
nour in the capitol of that city. He died at an advanced 
age, still cherishing to the last the flame with which his 
taura had inspired him. 

£ 3 



54 



CHATELAR. 



stream of love-sick harmony will I now quaff my 
fill, and what I cannot realize, still learn to sub- 
stantiate in mental rapture. 







CHATELAR. 55 



FRAGMENT IX. 



Day has succeeded day, and every rising sun 
has bless'd me with the sight of Mary. — A thou- 
sand times I've tun'd the lute to strains of love, 
or read the passionate effusions of the wrapt poet's 
soul, to the celestial queen of bliss! — She has 
listened, she has wept, she has applauded me.— 
In vain at midnight have I taken up my pen, to 
trace the raptures that entranced me ; the thread 
was broken, and to give to language what my 
soul concealed was not in Chatelar, nor in the 
brain of human nature to impart. 

Week has crept on, and still another ushered 
in fresh extacy; and now hath time just mea- 
sured out three moons, since D'Anville left his 
Chatelar in full possession of a world of joy. — 
Three secret letters have by me been given unto 
my queen, the sad effusions of my lord,— I have 
watched the features of my love, when o'er the 
lines her beamy eyes have roved ; — dejection sat 
E 4 



56 CHATELAR. 

upon her brow, and frequently the pitying tear 
would course adown her cheek, from whence the 
rose was plucked by tenderness and grief. 

A day of trial must ensue ; the morrow's sun 
lights Gordon to my queen : he hath entreated, 
and she allows him her consent to speak awhile 
in private to her. — It is the first dark cloud that 
hath arose to throw the gloom of sadness on the 
bright hemisphere of pleasure that has environed 
me. — Why should not Chatelar presume ere it 
be yet too late ? why should not Mary know that 
I among the rest have yielded up my soul to her 
all-subduing charms ?-- -What is thy family, Oh 
Gordon ! that Chatelar should not, like thee, 
make his claim known unto the queen ? Hast 
thou more honour in thy nature, more courage 
in misfortune, more valour in the hour of peril, 
and half the sum of love which now consumes 
me? if in all these thou art not mor. exalted 
than myself, then Chatelar ranks in Nature's 
book of immutable truth as great as thou thy- 
self art. 

Nature knows no claim of sublunary great- 
ness; imperial dignity cannot enshield the wearer 
from the pàng of grief, the agonizing torture of 
consuming pain, or the fell shaft of annihilating 
death : man is but man, and greatness, like the 
gaudy beam of day, must yield unto the scarfing 
robe of ebon night. 1 defy thee — yes, Gor- 



CHATELAR. 57 

don, Chatelar dare defy thee ; and did thine arm 
possess the iron sinews of a second Hercules, still 
would I throw defiance in thy teeth, and rest my 
hope of victory in love my hope— my assur- 
ance I would say ; for what could controul the 
fury of a heart burning with such affection as now 
blazes forth in me ? I would meet the hungry lion 
in his den, or the fell tyger prowling for his prey ; 
I would face the winged dragon of the rocks, or 
teach fell Cerberus to lick my very feet, and sue 
for mercy.— Passion when shackled becomes the 
frenzy of the soul, nor spares the being who 
would dare oppose it.— I own no power but love 
—I reverence no creature but my queen : to lose 
her would be death ; and he that should attempt 
to rob me of her love encounters a twofold ene- 
my : I strive for love, and life without it, I'd 
thank the created man who should at once anni- 
hilate; but thus possessing the smiles of Mary, 
not all the world shall tear the jewel of existence 
from me ! Come Dante* let thy glowing page 

* Dante, the Italian poet, was one of those transcen- 
dent geniuses that very rarely spring up to dazzle the world 
with a sublimity of composition. This poet, who lived in 
a dark and superstitious age, was not shackled by any of 
the trammels which had marked the compositions of his 
successors ; on the contrary, he seemed formed to prove to 
the world the astonishing powers of the human intellect. 
The mind has in general advanced by progressive steps, 



53 CHATELAR. 

instruct me how to act ; teach me, with the fir 
of thy transcendent lines, to tyrannize with love ; 
teach me to give my heart the adamantine ar- 
mour of hatred, to all who dare oppose my soul- 
entranced passion. 

Thy numbers, most sublime of men, break 
upon the fancy like aweful thunder riding from 
afar upon the gloomy clouds, or as- the dashing 
torrent roaring from on high, and foaming in its 
rapid fall ; even so thy pen, in terrifying numbers, 
hath astounded every sense, and taught my sou' 
sublimity. — Yes, Dante shall be my theme to 
night ; he shall awaken every dormant faculty 
I will rivet mine eyes unto his god-like verse, anc 
learn to verify the poet's heaven-fraught fiction 
Come mind, with rapture fraught, and cou- 
ple with a kindred spirit ; Dante shall be to Cha- 
telar as fewel to the blazing fire — yes : I will dar 
every thing that honour shall approve, and love 
and Mary sanction. 

and it is very rare, indeed, that we find a genius soaring 
above the usual standard ; but it is in this instance that 
Dante ranks so eminently conspicuous. In the delineation 
of every passion he was alike transcendent ; whether ty 
janny or cruelty, virtue or vice, craft or imposture, wen 
the subjects of his muse, the same fire and truth marked hi 
verse. — In short, no age has produced a genius more sub 
lime, and so perfectly calculated to correct the taste, anc 
give birth to the genuine eiFusions of unfettered poetry. 



CHATELAR. 59 



FRAGMENT X. 



He hath beheld her : this morn in private Gor- 
don saw my queen. — What a torture of suspense 
ensued — yes : I might have heard his protesta- 
tions, and beheld his fervent gestures, but the 
meanness was too dastardly for Chatelar; I could 

not taint my soul with slave-like baseness. 

Heavenly powers ! how sluggard pass'd the mi- 
nutes of their hated interview. — I felt Oh I 

Mary, let me not tell thee all the scorpion stings, 
that wrung my heart with anguish. — He left thee; 
Gordon retired : with pensive step I saw him 

pace along the gallery It was not D'Anville, 

and I hated him. — Yes ; Dante had put to flight 
all woman's weakness, and every inmate of my 
breast was rage, revenge, and jealousy! — A lin- 
gering hour ensued, and then my Mary summon- 
ed me : I looked upon her sadden'd eye, that Ian- 



60 CHATELAR. 

guishingly spoke internal sorrow. — Thy precepts, 
Dante, were no more ; I sunk in the sweet dream 
of love, and to these numbers touch'd the thril- 
ling string, that spoke the beauties of my queea 
beloved. — 



THE PICTURE OF MT QUEEN. 

Ah ! wou'dst thou see the azure sky, 
And feast upon the blooming rose, 

Etherial blue is Mary's eye, 

The. damask tinge her cheeks disclose. 

Wou'dst thou behold the lily dress'd 
And view each graceful wave display'd, 

Gaze on her gently heaving breast, 
And see her locks in gold array'd. 

Or wou'dst thou hear the bird of night, 
Whose notes melodious fill the grove, 

'Tis Mary's song that vields delight, 
So peerless is the queen of love. 



Scarcely had I sang to thee my strain, O queen 
of bliss, when thou didst deign address me,— 
Never shall I forget thy words : they shall be 
noted on my tablet, that, if the shaft of fate 



CHATELAR. 6ì 

should summon me into another world, thine 
eyes, dear mistress of my heart, may once recal 
them, and teach thy soul to waft one pitying sigh 
for the departed spirit of him that loved thee. 
You spoke— yes, tenderly addressed me thus : 
" Chatelar, methinks some soft and hidden 
r sentiment must attune thy muse, which ever 
" breathes the strain of love and melancholy ; so 
f young thou art, and yet so sad, that it should 
r seem indeed as if some canker preyed upon thy 
P soul— say, is it within the scope of Mary's poor 
" ability to serve thee ; for I can pity others woes, 
r and willingly relieve them ?" 

I was motionless, the lute escaped my hand, 
a mist o'erspread the visions of my sight, and all 
the world was lost to Chatelar ! * * 

* ■* * * * * * 

* * I awoke, and 
on my pallet I found myself, whither thy gen- 
tleness and pity commanded that I should be 
borne, while thy attendants gently vied in kind 

endeavours for my re-animation. Ah ! could 

I then have spoke, my fate had been at once de- 
cided ; but feeling stopped the current of my 
voice — I wandered in the mazes of extatic bliss 
— I died with love ! 

It must ensue, my queen must know I live for 
her, and her alone ; her words demand it ; she 



f2 CHATELAR. 

sanctions the, confession, and shall hear the glow- 
ing truth. But, ah ! I cannot in her presence 

speak it, else had my Mary yestermorn been* 
guardian of my love-sick tale. — I will on paper 
give the effusions vent; a letter shall confess 
them to the mistress of my heart. Yet hold, 
my mind is ill assorted to such a theme : come 
my Petrarch, let thy softened phrase teach me in 
plaintive strains to breathe my passion. Thou 
too Boccacio* shall aid me in this bold attempt : 
yes, thy Laberinto D 1 Amove will tutor me to 
give my world of passion vent : thy TJ Amoroso, 
Visione shall picture all I feel. Oh ! that I could 
pluck a quill from love's down wing, or write my 
warm confession with his blazing arrow dipped 
in my heart's best blood ; then might I perchance 



* Boccacio was born in 1313, and was the natural son of 
an Italian merchant, who endeavoured to instil into his 
mind a love of trade ; but his genius soaring above the pur- 
suit of commerce, he was then intended for the study of the 
law, which he proved equally averse to, and launched at 
length into the field of composition. His poetic effusions 
are by no means so worthy applause as his prose ; and no 
production perhaps, of the same kind, ever surpassed his 
II Decamevoiie ; being a collection of One Hundred Tales, 
He was the bosom-friend of Petrarch, and never was a more 
striking instance of fervent attachment between the two 
greatest geniuses of the age they lived in, than was witnes- 
sed in the persons of Boccacio and Pttrarch. 



CHATELAR. 



63 



in part explain the passion that consumes me, 
and melt my Mary into fond compassion. The 
die is cast; to-morrow shall make Chatelar for 
ever blessed, or yield him up the victim of de- 
spair. 




CHATELAR. 65 



FRAGMENT XL 



Come death! come sweet annihilation and 
terminate at once the horrors of existence ! Mary 
— yes my queen discards me, contemns my pas- 
sion, and sends the fatal mandate for my dismis- 
sal hence. Do I exist? Is this the happiness I 
fondly pictured ? — Fool that I am ! poor doating 
infant, how have I quaffed the sweet illusions of 
hope only to feel the venom of despair more 
poignant to my soul. 

And wilt thou not befriend me, death ? Dost 
thou contemn me? I have the will, I have the 
power, and who can stay me ? Come faithful 
steel, and end at once this conflict of my griefs ; 
come ; for 'tis Mary sends thee on the annihila- 
ting errand, and therefore do thy work with 
chearfulness. There is but this, 'twixt me and 
the cold grave, and then I rush from misery and 
hopeless love. But whither, Ah! where do I 
hurry ? Is it forgetfulness ? Is it annihilation ? Re- 



66 CHATELAU. 

ligion, thou bring'st a phalanx of contending 
thoughts to puzzle and appal me. Self-immola- 
tion! hath the Omnipotent then placed a bar 
'twixt this life-ending dagger and my heart ? must 
I endure and be accursed here, or seek my fate 
and still exist the creature of thy wrath hereaf- 
ter ? how determine, how explore the labyrinth 
which entangles me ? Cowardice! — What, can it 
be coward-like to spurn the certainty I have, and 
fly to regions unexplored ? Where hope exists, 
life would become a stake too dear to hazard at 
one fell cast; but all with me is dreariness; and 
if I live, existence pictures to my mind one cheer- 
less blank ; a life of hopeless love, despair, and 
jealousy. Can I behold her another's? can I 
surfer a creature to bask in the full blaze of her 
charms, and not hurl him to perdition ? Impossi- 
ble ! then life still cherished must taint my soul 
with murder ! Time, what art thou ? the space of 
life is but a day; and shall not I still bear my 
agonies ? in vain, therefore, wouldst thou still 
physic my sad mind with hope that years may 
steep my griefs in sweet forgetfulness. Never; 
no, never, will Chatelar forget to love; never 
can he banish Mary from the tablet of his heart; 
she lives, she blazes there for ever and for ever ! 
Religion, thou art to me no comforter. Time, 
thou art no healer of my pain; then still must I 
recur to thee, life-terminating dagger. What, 






CHÀTELAR. 67 

èan my brain still conjure up excuse upon ex- 
cuse, and war against my better reason? I will 
give thought full scope, though nothing can stir 
me from my determination — Death. 

The grave! yes, Chatelar, it may be found, 
and honourably found without thy stir. War 
may accomplish thine intent, and bury thee with 
Honour. Thou may'st court it in the field ; thou 
may'st bare thy bosom to its shaft and sink re- 
nowned into the shades of calm oblivion. 

Dost thou not mock me all-devouring death ? 
wilt thou not fly me then, and laugh thy wretched 
supplicant to scorn? No — still art thou here: 
still may this keen weapon do its work, and 
Chatelar rest with thee **■**#** 
* * * * * * j w yj b e g 0ne . heavens ! 
that ever Chatelar should live to say it: yes, 1 
will rid thee, Mary, of my hateful form for ever. 
France shall behold me : I will tear myself from 
love's celestial court, and hie me to the bloody 
banquettings of hungry Mars : but not like him 
shall I return again unto the queen of love. 
Rest here then, steel, for still I look to thee. 
Come, dearest rosary, that when I press the sod 
drench' d with my flowing blood, I may imprint 
on thee a parting kiss, and on life's terminating 
sigh waft forth the name of Mary. Come too 
Petrarch, for Chatelar is now more hopeless 
than ever thou thyself wast: yes, come then, 
r 2 



68 CHATELAR. 

sweet gift of my bright queen, rest here upon my 
heart, for thou shalt be my study till I yield my 
breath upon the field of honour. 

Thanks, eternal Providence, that Chatelar was 
not the child of greatness; for no creature but my 
offended Mary desires the fate of him who dies her 
slave ; 'tis true she hath dismissed me, but with tem- 
pered sweetness bids me learn to know my state, 
and then she may accord a kind forgiveness. To 
my bright queen alone the passion of my heart 
is thus revealed ; and she, I am sure, will not re- 
fuse forgiveness in the grave. Perhaps the fate 
of Chatelar will call forth a tear of kind commi- 
seration for his sufferings, and Mary will embalm 

his fleeting soul in peace. The morning breaks, 

and the first tinge of day, lights me to wretched- 
ness. Now then to horse poor love-sick and de- 
spised Chatelar; that none may be the witness 
of thy sad farewell to all in life that could ensure 
thee peace and happiness. 



CHATELAR. 69 



FRAGMENT XI 1. 



Thy shores, dear land, now fade in mist before 
my sight; and the foam-tipped surge, as if to 
give my bosom still more pain, seems eager to 
transport me from my lost Mary. How different 
is now the scene from that which bore me from 
the Gallic coast : my queen was then within the 
barque : I breathed the self same air, but now 
each minute wafts me from her to a distant shore ; 
yes, leads me to the grave, that fatal region of 
mystery and doubt where all is here conjectural. 
Now Gordon launches on the wide sea of bliss ; 
love is the pilot of his soul, and the bright beam 
of gaudy pleasure illumines his tract, as the soft 
zephyrs of love fill his warm fancy, which lead 
him to the shores of matchless beauty : no rocks 
impede his course, no hidden quick-sands are 
there to undermine him, for now he lives with 
bliss, freed from the piercing eye of searching 
jealousy. 

f3 



70 CHATELAR. 

I can no longer remain in sadness, and watch 
the spot where long has faded every trace of 
Scotia's shore; nought now appears but watery 
expanse, and the declining sun which seems to 
set in angry majesty upon the bosom of the wes- 
tern deep. The sullen winds begin to roar ; the 
surge more furious groans ; and from the north 
comes rolling on the o'er-fraught clouds, to give 
their watery burthens to the briny deep. — More 
busily the mariners now set the sails, the signal 
of approaching danger. How lowering is now my 
mind; the anger of the elements cannot appal 
me; the crash of worlds would not affright me; 
I court annihilation, and in any shape I shall 

greet it with gloomy pleasure. Hark! hov 

the distant peals reverberate through the vaulted 
canopy above; blaze on ye forked fires ; death's 
pale ministers, I welcome your sulphurous light; 
rock on ye angry billows, and rear your burthens 
to the clouds; then into yawning horrors dash 
me ; I can still observe you with steadiness, nor 
feel one trembling of the heart, nor witness in my 
pulse accelerated motion. For w 7 hy ? because 
the tempest rages more within my breast; and 
what is painful to the soul of sweet tranquillity 
becomes a sweetness to the mind of anguish. 
What is this elemental conflict, when compared 
with mine ; thy thunder, Jove, is dulcet'music to 
the unstrung chords that crash upon my soul; 



CHATELAR. 71 

thy lightnings are but faint emanations of the 
dread fires of jealousy that wither up my heart- 
strings, and appal the sweet soother sleep, who 
flies affrighted from me; thy troubled bosom 
thou expanded ocean, is peaceful to the conflict 
that rages in the breast of Chatelar : my heart, 
like this poor rocking barque, has been and still 
remains the rude sport of passions warring sea: 
it has been reared to the summit of expectancy : 
it has been dazzled with the resplendent rays of 
pleasure, and then precipitated into the fathom- 
less gulph of blackest horror, of endless despair. 
To these, what are the threatenings of the angry 
winds and waves ? I could be rocked by them in 
sweet oblivion, when compared with that I feel 

within me. Hark ! what a yell was that which 

echoed to the roaring winds! again it sounds 
upon mine ear. Yes, it is the signal of despair, 
for each enhorrored sailor cries out for mercy 

and salvation. Ah ! what is it whispers to my 

mind, i receive this lesson, Chatelar, from him 
who made thee V It is reason throws reflection 
into my boiling brain, and tells me that I am self- 
ish, since I alone now call on death as my true 
friend, and would embrace it by sacrificing to its 
hungry power those who regard it as their greatest 
enemy. Thanks ! salutary reflection, thou shalt 
have weight with Chatelar, who asks no partner 
in his griefs. Come then, dear beads, by Mary's 
F 4 



72 CHATELAR. 






fingers oft times pressed, and do your wonted 
office : Yes, for others I will, in contrite prayer, 
ask peace and safety ; though for myself, all sup- 
plication were but vain. * * * * * * 
* * * Rescued by Providence 

divine, I ought to bend the knee in token of my 
gratitude to heaven; but this sicken' d soul yearns 
out for death, and cannot prey. Like unto the 
vessel, from whose shattered hulk her inmates 
have been so late preserved by more than mira- 
cle, even so is Chatelar the wrecked bark of 
hopeless love, for the rude sea of fate to buffet 
to and fro Hold ! let me now picture re- 
gions of delight I ne'er must hope to taste on this 

side of the grave. 'Tis the hour when Mary's 

heavenly beauties, stretch' d upon the couch, 
court the sweet invigorating balm of sleep : me- 
thinks I now behold her form, unshackled by the 
robes of day, and clad in loose attire, reclined 
more graceful than the queen of love ; now mark 
her heaving bosom, which gives gentle motion to 
the lily covering that enshrouds it ; upon the 
left-arm rests her rosy cheek, while her rights 
hand concealed would even hide still more the 
source of female coyness, and bid defiance 
to the Shower * of Jove. Perhaps her eyes un- 

* The Editor conceives, that Chatelar must have had 
reference to Ovid's fable of the beautiful Banea, the daugh- 



CHATELAR. 7 S 

closed, dispense their azure beams with languish- 
ingly melting softness; perhaps her fragrant 
breath issues in broken sighs, and her palpitating 
heart speaks a soft language she scarcely dares 
to comprehend. Perhaps, accursed Gordon flits 
before her fancy, and as she pictures all his 
charms, her restless form assumes a new, yet 
more enchanting position. Heavens! that I 
might fill that outstretched arm; that I might 
sigh my soul in rapture and expire ; that I might 
feast my eyes and drink whole seas of love; that 
I might rove o'er matchless symmetry and limbs 
of fire. ********* 
Where am I ? where hath my fancy led my love- 
sick mind ? why did I not expire in fiction, since 
reality can never be attained ? Oh ! cruel, cruel 
world, 'tis thou hast placed the barrier 'twixt 
me and the rapturous bliss I pant for. Had not 
fell custom robed my love in majesty, Chatelar 
might then have cherished hope: yes, custom 
shackles nature with her brazen chains, and rea- 



ter of Acrisius, King of Argos ; who was confined by her 
father in a castle of brass, because the oracle had prognos- 
ticated that he should fall a sacrifice to her son. Jupiter, 
who was enamoured of the charms of Danea, visited her, 
according to the fable, in the form of a shower of gold ; in 
consequence of which she conceived Perseus, who after- 
wards slew his grandfather, according to the prognostic of 
the oracle. 



74 



CHATELAK. 



son throws her chilling mantle o'er the exube- 
rance of fervid passion. Would custom and calm 
reason were expelled my breast, and love with 
nature suffered to be inmates of my soul for ever, 
So Chatelar would be supremely blessed with 
rapture and with Mary. 



CHATELAR. 75 



SONNET, 



Ah ! say ray soul, is nature law, 
Or is the mind but passion's tool? 

Yes : all affection's but a flaw, 
For heav'nly love is custom's rule; 

So saith cold reason : but my raging heart 
Cries nay, and fain would act a nobler part. 

I wou'd be her's, whom custom's rule 
Hath plac'd on eminence so high, 

That soaring I should seem the fool, 
And yet not soaring I must die. 

Doth custom then, or nature play unfair, 

To plant the will when not the pow'r is there ? 

Passion and reason always disagree ; 
So I am left with love and misery. 



CHATELAR. 77 



FRAGMENT XIII. 



1 he dulcet strain of the lute is heard no more; 
the song of love no longer floats upon the breeze ; 
every thing has given way to war, and martial 
clangor now bursts upon the still bosom of air, 

I have joined the standard of the Prince of 
Condè and the good Admiral Coligni, against the 
monarch Charles and the Duke de Guise.* I 

* At this period there were two factions in France: 
King Charles the 9th, with his mother, Catherine de Medi- 
cis, and the Duke of Guise, supported the catholic faith, 
while the Prince de Condè, the King of Navarre, (after- 
wards Henry the Fourth of France) and the virtuous Ad- 
miral Coligni, with numerous other noblemen, took part 
with the Hugonots, wishing to establish freedom of wor- 
ship for the reformed religion, of which they were vota- 
ries, in opposition to the court. The Prince of Condè, 
conceiving that Orleans would be the most desirable post 
for his party to take possession of, as the neighbouring 
provinces were, for the most part, attached to the new sect, 
he in consequence dispatched D'Andelot, one of his most 



78 CHATELAU. 



J 



have no clamours of the soul, for my reason 
gives me an assurance that my cause is grounded 
on the immutable basis of truth. I am an Hu 
gonot ; I cannot war against the certainty which 
my mind unceasingly presents ; for I am convinc- 
ed the purest faith must be the faith of the Re- 
deemer of the world. 

Yes : I shall die for Mary in the cause of per- 
secuted virtue, and that belief which has torn 
from Rome its mockery and superstition, to giv 
religion all its pristine glory. To-morrow sees 



experienced captains, to get possession of that city, which 
he accomplished, at the head of only three hundred veteran 
soldiers, of whom Chatelar, as will appear according to his 
statement, formed one. After various successes, the leaders 
of the Hugonots were at length lulled into a false security, 
by the artifices of the politic Catherine de Medicis, and 
her equally deceitful and cruel son, Charles the Ninth, 
who, together with the Duke of Guise, planned the horri- 
ble bloodshed at Paris, better known bj' the name of the 
Bartholomew Massacre, or the Parisian Matins; when, 
after three successive days and nights of slaughter, it is 
computed that six thousand Hugonots perished, among 
whom were five hundred of the nobility, the first victim 
being the brave and virtuous Admiral Coligni, whose mag- 
nanimous death was the fruit of a life spent in the prac- 
tice of virtue, truth, and honour. The Prince of Condè 
was only saved on a promise of renouncing his religion, 
and on account of his affinity to the blood royal; and the 
King of Navarre was spared, owing to his marriage with 
Margaret, the sister of the blood-thirsty king of France. 



CHATELAR. 79 

me brave the perils of the field ; I will be fore- 
most in the glorious fray, and emulate the vete- 
rans that surround me. — My captain, the brave 
D'Andelot, admitted me among his chosen band, 
to share the honour of the arduous day : before 
the walls of Orleans I will act as befits the lover 
of a queen ; I will be present where danger 
threatens most; grim death shall bestride my 
sword, and I will force my way to glory and an 
honourable grave — yes ; I will end my woes, and 
terminate at once the hopeless struggles of my 
love. 

The breeze is hush'd, and not a murmur now 
disturbs our little camp, overshadowed by the 
lofty battlements of the devoted Orleans, whose 
cloud-aspiring turrets now are silver'd o'er with 
the faint radiance of the pallid orb of night. 

Mary now sleeps ; the queen of love is sooth'd 
by heavenly slumbers, while wretched Chatelar, 
doom'd to be the victim of her charms, with 
wakeful eyes numbers out the sluggard minutes 
that keep him from eternal sleep ; — but Chatelar 
is not alone ; D'Anville, my friend, experiences 

likewise the pangs of watchful misery. Ah ! 

may the Marechal ne'er know the fate of him, 
who venerated all his virtues, was grateful for 
his goodness, and knew how to commiserate his 
forlorn and heart-consuming passion. — Farewel, 
dearest of friends ; best of benefactors, farewel: 



80 CHATELAR. 

perhaps thy Chatelar may once more view thee 

when the rude fever of this life is o'er. But, 

ah ! my soul, wilt thou be gifted in a world to 
come with mundane recollection ; wilt thou be 
susceptible of love and friendship in this state ì 

— Still are my senses hood-wink'd, and to 

every question which would dive beyond exist- 
ence here — all is a cheerless blank, and hope 
alone is left me. 

How dimly burns the lamp ; it scarce illumines 
the narrow confines of my tent ; it is the type of 
life within me, which must to-morrow be extin- 
guished ; and the gloom surrounding, is the un- 
certainly of an hereafter. Why flag my senses. 

why do my spirits droop ? love shall reanimate 
my soul, and thus will I address him : — 

TO LOVE. 

Love holds dominion o'er my breast, 

And all my senses doth enslave ; 
He is the foe of tranquil rest, 

Nor quits us till we're in the grave, 
He is a foe, 
He is a fire ; 
The source of woe, 
Or soft desire. 

Ah ! wou'd my goddess smile, I then might show, 
That bliss was love, not love of bliss the foe^ 



CHATELAR. Si 

But since in love no joys I find, 

My direst foe in him I serve ; 
And though a tyrant, still ray mind 

The rankling arrow must preserve. 

I am the slave, 
My goaler he — 
Nought but the grave 
Gives liberty. 

Come love's physician, come all-conqu'ring death, 
Strike here, and let me yield with love my breath. 



CHATELAR. 83 



FRAGMENT XV. 



Can it be, that Chatelar should thus resume his 
theme of misery ? Have I in verity escaped the 
perils that environed me ; the death I sought so 
strenuously on every side ?— Why am I thus the 
sport of man's dread foe ; the dire exterminator 
of existence ? Why did not one of those unerring 
shafts, which at that moment struck so many of 
my fellow men, wing its exterminating course to 

Chatelar ? This morn I stood like a projecting 

rock amid a sea of desolation ; on every side the 
dying and the dead assailed my view ; and at my 
side fell many a noble comrade, never to rise 
again ; I was alone unheeded by the hungry mo- 
narch of the grave; Chatelar was alone invul-^ 
nerable. I mounted the deadly breach, but still 
no friendly arm wafted the messenger of peace to 
my longing soul : o'erpowered by numbers, D'An- 
deloty my captain, upon his knee valiantly defend- 
ed his precious life ; I came, I rescued the brave 
g2 



84 CHATELAR. 

commander of our little troop, and victory soon 
crowned us with its verdant wreath. — We enter- 
ed masters of this city — yes ; triumphantly we 
passed the gates of Orleans, and exultation mark- 
ed each countenance, save that of the dejected 

Chatelar. * Soon came the noble Condè with 

his valiant troops, but Mars to us had given all 
the glory of the bloody fray: the Prince arrived 
too late to share the blooming laurels that en- 
twined our brows; he came but to receive sub- 
mission from his foes, already vanquished by our 
swords. Unmindful of the victory, regardless of 
the part I had sustained, and only dwelling on 
the thoughts of death and Mary, I had sought 
out the tranquil silence of this melancholy cham- 
ber, when suddenly a summons from my prince 
demanded my attendance. — I obeyed, and to the 
noble Condè was led unwillingly by D f Andelot y 
who, mindful of that life I had preserved, spoke 
with such sounding words of my poor merits in 
the horrid fray, as drew down commendations 
from my prince, who, as a token of his gratitude, 

* The history of Charles the Ninth, in speaking of the 
reduction of Orleans by the Hngonots, substantiates what 
is above stated, as it was the intention of the Prince of 
Conde to be present at the siege, but did not, however, ar- 
rive till its surrender to D'Andelot, with his small but cho- 
sen troop. 



CHATELAR. 85 

presented me with this insignia of honour, which 
he bade me ever wear, and entitle him my friend. 
But what are princes' friendships ; what is ho- 
nour, glory, and renown, compared with thee, 
my queen ? How many youths would covet the 
bright field of fame, which now presents itself to 

Chatelar, who views it unregarded. Strange 

contrariety of fate : how versatile is fortune to 
the children of mortality ! 

Love found sanctuary in the breast of Chate- 
lar, but love was not requited. — I call on death ; 
I court annihilation, and bare my bosom to a host 
of darts ; they turn aside, and pass me unregard- 
ed. — I seek seclusion ; I wish to pine away with 
melancholy and despair ; and then comes honour 
and renown to marshal me where I shall meet 

the public gaze, and sicken with its plaudits. 

Is there no peace on this side of eternity ? must 
we for ever court an illusion which evades us ? 
must the heart-broken pilgrim of this world, 
when ebbing life fleets o'er his fever' d lips, re- 
ceive the token of the comfort he had sought for ? 
— Tis even so : we are as criminals condemned 
to perish, who, when the executioner has done 
his work, receive a sluggard pardon and reprieve 

that mocks them in the grave. But is there 

with Chatelar a ray of comfort ? even in death, 

can he expect the look of tenderness from her he 

loves? No; he must perish, far from the hea- 

g 3 



86 CHATELAR. 

venly casket which enshrines the queen of bliss ; 
he must sink without a sigh in pity for his fate.- 
— Still art thou here, my comforter ; still may 
thy glittering point search out my heart, and give 
the death I pant for—yes ! — Ah, no ! religion now 
entangles me ; I have espoused that cause which 
seals with everlasting curse the crime of suicide. 
I have drawn upon myself the eyes of all the 
stanch adherents of our faith — what shame 
would then for ever blast my memory ; I should 
be disgraced where I now seek one gleam of com- 
fort; I should barter the applause of virtuous 
men, and sink into the grave the wretch of in- 
famy. — Mary, too— yes, my queen would hear 
my shame, and think the hour accursed that had 
presented to her sight a fiend so black as Cha- 
telar. 

What is to be resolved upon ?— Must I then 
exist, and drag on to age a life of wretchedness ì 
Is there no hope of peace ? and will the ghastly 
terror still keep his icy signet from my burning 

heart ? -Impossible ! this frame must wear 

away ; internal pangs like Chatelar's must bring 
him to the pallet of wasting sickness— yes : I 
will feed my love ; I will drink draughts of pas- 
sion; I will give the rein to madding jealousy; I 
will goad my senses, and fan the fires of passion 
till the parch'd-up strings of my heart burst asun- 
der ; till this anguished flutterer be pulverised ! 



CHATELAR. $? 

Come Lorris,* thy Roman de la Rose shall 
feed my love Yet, no ; I will first lament the 



* William de Lords, the French poet, flourished as early 
as the period of Saint Lewis of France, and of our Henry 
the Third. It is justly said of Chaucer, that he was the fa- 
ther of English poetry, and so may Lorris be denominated 
the patron of French versification. Lorris derived his 
name, as was customary in those days, from the town of 
Lorris, situated about eight leagues from the city of Or- 
leans. His poem, entitled Roman de la Rose, was to have 
consisted of 22,734 verses, but the author only composed 
4149, which defalcation originated, we may conjecture, in 
his early death, historians having recorded nothing respect- 
ing this astonishing genius upon which we are enabled to 
ground any material fact. His work is an allegorical tale, 
by which the poet wishes to show how many pains and plea- 
sures attend the pursuit of pure and virtuous love. The 
poem was completed some years after by one John de 
Meun, who wrote several other works. With respect to 
the talents of Lorris, considering the age in which he lived, 
too much panegyric cannot be bestowed upon his labours. 
He was brilliant in his ideas, and delineated the passions 
with a masterly hand; his allegory was just, and his ima- 
gery correct ; but we have not only to regard him in the 
Tight of a romance writer, as his production abounds with 
chaste representations of familiar life, by which he becomes 
the delineator of the manners of his own period, and the 
unfolder of the philosophy of the mind. The editor con- 
ceives it almost needless to inform the reader, that this pro- 
duction of William de Lorris was afterwards given in an 
English dress by Geoffrey Chaucer, who has preserved the 
same title in his translation. 

G 4 



S5 CHATELAR. 

cold ingratitude of death ; I will apeak my pain 
in sadden'd numbers, and then to thy love-feeding 
page, dear book ! — Yes, Lorris shall be to Cha- 
telar the source of rest till the return of beamy 
day. 



TO THE DART OF DEATH. 

How oft hath Mars his blood-stain' d weapon rear'd 
While calmly smiling I have said — 
O ! strike, and number with the dead, 

This breaking heart, by love's hot arrow sear'd* 

In vain I profFer'd thus my bleeding soul; 
My bosom's flame too ardent burn'd, 
From ice to fire the steel was turn'd, 

And hungry death had lost his dire control. 

If thus the shaft neglectful turns away, 

How can my fetter'd soul expire ? 

Save in the blaze of that bright fire, 
Which beams, O goddess ! from thy heav'nly eye 

Since then thy dart, grim death, I soar above, 
My eyes her eyes shall meet, then die with love. 



CHATELAR. 89 



FRAGMENT XV. 



JVIy days have been one round of dull monotony, 
and week has ushered in succeeding week with- 
out a pleasing change. — Love has been my mid- > 
night study, and the returning light has led me to 
the councils of my noble chiefs; honour still suc- 
ceeds to honour, and Chatelar is loved by all — 
Mary alone suffers me to droop with withering 
despondency. How lasting is the impression 
made upon the soul ; nor change of scene, nor 
absence from the well-beloved, can mitigate our 
pain ; we sigh amid the shouts of mirth, and in 
retirement conjure up those graces to our imagi- 
nations, (from which we are debarred) only to 
render absence more distressing. How gloomy 
is that contemplation, which pictures the impossi- 
bility of attaining what can alone rivet the mind 
to existence; what a cheerless scene does it pre- 
sent; what desires it gives birth to; and what in- 
gratitude does it not lead us to be guilty of, to- 



so 



CHATELAR. 



wards that Great Power who claims all reverence 
and praise from the creatures of his beneficence. 

How my mind struggles to be free ; how my 

restless reason combats with my love; I 'would, 
but cannot contradict the glaring truths which it 
impresses on my soul ; and yet, though I am 
thus urged to a conviction, I cannot act upon 
the principles which subdue me. I could learn 
stoicism, and be the calm philosopher in every 
passion, save only love ; but he is my divinity, 
and, like a defenceless babe within the giant's 
grasp, all struggles to evade him are but vain. 
I have looked into thy consolations, sage Boe- 
tius* Ah ! would that I might profit by thy 



* Boetius was a great lover of the sciences, and a most 
profound scholar ; he was once raised to the dignity of con- 
sul and principal minister of state ; he followed the doc- 
trines of Aristotle, and laboured in the cause of philosophy 
and of truth. Having been raised to power by Theodoric, 
King of the Goths, that monarch suspected him of holding 
a private correspondence with the emperor Justin; in con- 
sequence of which, Boetius, and his father-in-law, Symma- 
chus, were cast into prison, when Boetius composed his 
well-known treatise, On the Consolation of Philosophy. — 
Boetius was beheaded after an imprisonment of six months, 
anno. 59A. With regard to the merits of this work, men- 
tioned by Chatelar, none could be better calculated to rec- 
tify that exuberance of passion which hurried him on to 
ruin. The Consolatio Philosophic consists of alternate effu- 
sions, as well in verse as in prose ; and the real intention of 



CHATELAR. g\ 

studies ; but all in vain do I solicit such a bles- 
sing ; love laughs to scorn thy frigid precepts, 
and gives me in thy stead the confessions of a 
Gouer* the sonnets of Arezzo, f or the effusions 
of a Cavalcanti. t 



Boetius was to reconcile the doctrines of Christianity with 
the refinement of the classics, and the philosophy of the 
Grecians. The poetry of this production is much applaud- 
ed, and the work was formerly in the highest repute. A- 
mong numerous translations of Boetius into various lan- 
guages, the first in English was from the pen of Chaucer, 
who gave it throughout in prose; but it is most probable 
that Chatelar perused it in its pure original Latin. 

* Gower, the contemporary and friend of Chaucer, was a 
poet of considerable merit, and his ballads in French prove 
him to have been infinitely susceptible of the delicate effu- 
sions of the muse. His greatest work was bis De Confessio 
Amantis, supposed to have been written by order of Richard 
the Second, consisting of thirty thousand verses ; it is full 
of stories, and is supposed to have given Chaucer the idea 
of his Canterbury Tales. Although Gower has been much 
neglected, the greatest praise is due to his memory ; and he 
may indeed be said, to have shared with Chaucer in the meri- 
torious work of reforming the literature of this country. 

f Guitone D' Arezzo was a very old Italian poet, and 
the first who reduced that species of composition, called 
sonnet, into the form which it has ever since assumed in 
Italy, and other parts of Europe. 

X Guido Cavalcanti was also a very early Italian versi- 
fier, who gave proofs in his compositions of much taste and 
refinement. He died in 1300. 



p2 CHATELAR. 

How vainly thus does study come to aid the? 
precepts of my reason ; whene'er I have recourse 
to books, my mind takes flight, save when the 
theme is love, and then my senses are ensteeped 

in pleasing poison. O sleep! that rock'st all 

other creatures in thy renovating arms, thou hast 
no fascination for Chatelar. But yesternight, 
when thy oppressive pinions fanned my brain, 
even thou wouldst not allow me comfort, nor 
fright dread visions from my fancy. 

Methought the soul-attracting Mary stood be- 
fore me, lovely as perfection, and 'ray'd in che- 
rub sweetness ; I strove to approach the heavenly 
phantom, but all in vain ; an insurmountable at- 
traction seemed to rivet me to earth : methought 
I raved with madness, and burst at length the 
bond which had enchained me, when at that in- 
stant Gordon stood before me ; his brows seemed 
clad with blooming roses, and all his look and 
gesture spoke him happy — yes; blessed with the 

smiles of Mary ! It was beyond endurance ; 

the brand of jealousy illumined my breast, and 
tore asunder thy fetters, hateful sleep ! — I woke 
to taste new horrors, and curse the world, and all 
but her who reigns the mistress of my heart for 
ever ! 

'Twas but this morn the noble Condè question- 
ed me, and strove to learn the source of my de- 
jection. Oh ! how he chid me with his words ; 



CHATELAR. 93 

they seemed so many soft reproofs for want of 
confidence. — I acknowledged his bounty ; I told 
him of the lack of ability which was in me, to 
compensate for the honours showered upon my 
head : he would not heed my protestations, but 
proffered still more bounty, and trusted then he 

should be worthy the esteem of Chatelar. 

What conflicts wrung my soul, which seemed to 
feel the taint of base ingratitude ; I would have 
bartered worlds to breathe the truth, yet dared not 
make confession of my love.— —I cannot live 
in this uncertainty ; I wander like a melancholy 
fiend, and seem unthankful where most I would / 
be grateful :— -here too religion stays my hand 
from the infliction of that blow which I have 

vainly sought within the jaws of death. Where 

must I fly ? where hide my miserable form ? a 
trackless desart would be paradise to all I suffer 
here. — Oh! that I were wafted to some steril 
shore, where never human foot had made its 
pressure ; there would 1 tell my anguish to the 
heedless waves, and give my sighs to the neglect- 
ful air — no soul could tax me with ingratitude. 
—-Yes, there would I atone to Condè and my 
chiefs for my apparent want of gratitude, by 
yet enduring life a little, and then relieve my 
woes in everlasting sleep. * * * 

A lapse of time has given 
reflection scope ; I can by penitence regain the 



94« CHATELAR. 

pardon of offended Majesty; I can once more 
gaze upon the lovely queen, and then retire to 
end the tragedy of my fatal love. — Yet being 
there, could I, when basking in the lustre of her 
charms, and greeted perhaps with her reanimat- 
ing smile — Ah ! could I then tear myself away ? 
— Compared with love so hot as mine, what is 
the boasted resolution of the soul ? — Hope then 

would cherish life, and life is misery. 1 am 

perplex'd in thought, and stand like a benighted 
traveller, doubtful of the track I should pursue. 
I can no more ; fate still must marshal me 
the way, where passions such as mine will lead, 
and I have therefore yet one blessing left to com- 
fort me. — Yes, I am so doubly curs'd, that I can 

laugh to scorn all other ills of life. Thy cup 

of misery is full, poor Chatelar ; but add one drop 
it must overflow, and life ebbs with it. 



CHATELAR. $5 



FRAGMENT XVI. 



I am bewildered, and every occurrence of this 
life seems but illusion to my senses. — Can it be? 
are men the sport of heaven ? — Can the Omni- 
potent delight in torturing the creatures of his 
care? — It is incompatible with his boundless 
mercy. — Yet, what are we to conjecture ; what 
inference can be drawn from such a wilderness of 

woes as chequer the existence of Chatelar ? 

Three nights are passed, and I have still conceal- 
ed the truth ; I have forborne, my queen, to tell 
thee that Chatelar is beloved. — The poor deserts 
of him who dies thy slave, have won the heart of 
Angeline — yes ! of the noble heiress, Be Beau- 
mont. — Ah! that I could return the flame, and 
give to her one ray of that passion which only 

lives for thee, my Mary, But, no ! Angeline, 

like Chatelar, must bear the load of anguish; 
for never will my heart be touch'd with any thrill 
for her, save only melting pity. How noble is 



$6 CHATELAR. 

the race of Beaumont ; what honours would ac- 
crue to Chatelar from such an alliance ; Angeline 
too is lovely in all eyes, but those of the adorer of 
the heavenly Mary ! 'Twas D'Andelot confided 
to me the whole mystery of this luckless passion, 
that preys upon the maiden's heart, and she be- 
fore bestowed on rne a token of her love. 
Cruel fate ! wretched Angeline ! unfortunate 
Chatelar ! wherefore wast thou preserved to in- 
flict the wound thou feel'st, and lacerate the bo- 
som of another ? * * * * * 
******** 

With D'Andelot and the dejected Angeline I 
had stray'd, far from the walls of Orleans, col- 
lecting choicest flowers; the songsters of the 
morn attuned their joyous lays— -all nature wore 
the aspect of serene tranquillity : methought that 
in my breast alone was treasured up the shaft of 
love and misery. Beneath an amply spreading 
tree we gained at length a cool retreat, by na- 
ture formed beneath a bank enamelled o'er with 
brightest verdure ; before the opening of the ca- 
vity luxuriant roses of the milky hue waved to 
the passing breeze— D'Andelot entered, whilst 
with Angeline I gazed in silence on the surround- 
ing scene. — Upon a distant hill a shepherd youth 
attended to his fleecy tribe, whilst ever and anon 
he tun'd his reed to some old Norman tale of 
love. 



CHATELAR. 97 

u Chatelar," said Angeline, in a soften'd tone 
of voice, <c doth yonder lay, that breathes from 
" shepherd's pipe, convey such tender sweetness 
" to thine ear as thrills my soul ?" 

I gazed upon the maid ; a languor beam'd 
upon her modest cheek, which struck my very 
heart. — I was for a moment mute, when, point- 
ing to the swain, I thus replied : — 

" Yes, Angeline; my feelings are in unison 
" with thine/' — A sigh escaped me as I spoke- 
it was the incense of my soul offered at Mary's 

shrine But, ah ! the maid knew not the 

thrillings of my breast ; she greeted these soft / 
tokens as proofs of love requited ; and, snatch- 
ing a verdant bough with roses chequered, she 
gave it to my care, and blushing deep replied : — 

" Oh ! wear this token then — for me V 

Like the timid roe, she swift vanished from my 

sight, and in the robe of D'Andelot concealed 

her maiden blushes, and the tear of fervent love. 
******* * 

I must fly from Orleans ; my presence here can 
only tend to inflame the poison which rankles in 
the heart of the dejected maid. — I must quit this 
scene of honour ; I must no more present myself 
before the aged sire of Angeline, the venerable 

Count de Beaumont. Why did I appear so 

gracious in his eyes ? Why was I singled out to 
be the friend of the Prince Condè ? Had I not 

H 



98 CHATELAR. 

enchained his kind regard, I should not thus have 
mingled with the noble crowd, and Angeline had 

ne'er beheld me. How my heart bleeds for 

her whom I can never love : how my soul pants 
for her whom I can never possess. — Mary despises 
Chatelar, who dies for her, and Chatelar can 
only pity Àngeline, who feels for him the fires of 

warm affection. Why was I ever called upon 

to touch the lute in presence of the maid ? why 
did the generous Condè speak in my commenda- 
tion ? I little thought my love-sick tales, which 
were wafted to the idol .of my soul, would find 
sanctuary in the bosom of another.— Ah ! little 
did I imagine the praises of my prince would 

win the heart of Angeline. 1 will begone; 

it must be so : 1 cannot live to witness another's 
pangs, and feed a hopeless passion by my pre- 
sence, — Yes, sweet maid, you must like Chatelar 

for ever bid adieu to him you love ! It is 

resolved : the coming day makes noble Condè 
the depository of my tale of anguish, and of my 
determined flight from Gallia, and from Ange- 
line— -for ever I 



CHATELAR. 99 



FRAGMENT XV II. 



1 he die is cast : the Prince has this day heard 
my tale of anguish ; he pities me, and with coun- 
sels the most strenuous would urge me to forget 
my love, and bless the tender Angeline.— - But 
what is reason, and the sage advice of friend- 
ship, to the soul that burns with passion? — I 
ne'er can be the lovely Angeline's; nor would 
I so disgrace her bosom's fire, as to offer up a 
heart which never can requite the flame that now 
devours her own. — We must be wretched, and 
numbered with the sacrifices of purest affection. 
— It is decreed in heaven, and mortals must 
learn to submit. I have bad adieu to the Prince 
Condè, and the brave D'Andelot; and ere the 
matin bird has told to the still breeze the hour 
of returning light, I must to horse, and on the 
wings of expedition hie me hence unto the sea- 
girt shore, and once again commit myself unto 

the briny deep. Fate now drives me to the 

h 2 



J 00 CHATELAR. 

land of love ; my reason cannot resist the impulse 
which impels my soul to seek forgiveness of the 
enchanting Mary, and once more fix my eyes 

upon her heavenly charms ! Poor Angeline, 

how the keen pang of sorrow now afflicts my 
heart; — yes, I can feel for all thy woes, though 
I myself am languishing the object of despair. 
I know the bitterness of persecuted love, the 
pangs of absence, and the fell curse of hopeless 
meditation. 

Condè hath promised to administer the com- 
fort of a friend ; to tell in part the secret of my 
prior affection, and sooth if possible the maiden's 
soul, so that she yield not to such anguish as 

rends the heart of Chatelar. The hidden 

destinies have surely poured on me their sum of 
malice, and not a pang remains to harrow up my 
bosom. — I suffer, and am the source of suffer- 
ing ; — yes, I live in torments, and am myself 

the inflicter of the very agonies I feel. Can 

this be just, dread Monarch of the heavenly 
choir ? What sin hath Chatelar committed, that 
thus thy bitter wrath should wither up his soul ? 
What crime hath tainted gentle Angeline, that 
she should share alike the struggle of conflict- 
ing passions ? — Oh ! almighty love, if thou art 
the bestower of all sweets, thou art equally the 
source of bitterness accursed, and I stand forth 
the wretched monument of thy consuming wrath ! 






CHATELAR. 101 

■—Still art thou present to my fancy, Ange- 
line ; I will commiserate thy woes, and as my 
pen retraces all thy sorrows, mingle with the 
ebon stream the tear of sympathy, the parting 
drop of him who can do all but give thee love 
for love. 



TO THE FADING ROSE OF LOVE. 

Poor love-lorn maid, thy bleeding heart 
Doth all my withering pangs impart, 

As hopeless as thyself I pine ; 
I weep the queen of bliss, whilst thou 
Send'st forth to love the fervent vow 

For him who never can be thine. 

Thy tears with tears will I requite, 
With thee Pll sigh the tedious night, 

And praise my love with falt'ring breath ; 
With thee I'll hope, with thee despair, 
With thee the wrath of heav'n Pll dare, 

By cursing life and courting death. 

And yet, though hopeless be thy love, 
One pang like mine thou canst not prove— 

Pm more accursed far than thee ; 
For him thou lov'st will weep thy doom, 
But love's bright empress on the tomb 

Will never shed one tear for me. 

H 3 



102 



CHATELAR. 



The gem of pity is thy lot, 
Whilst I must wither quite forgot 

By her who reigns my bosom's queen ; 
Blighted by hope, and left forlorn, 
My heart is doom'd to wear the thorn, 

And mourn love's rose — poor Angeline. 




CHATELAR. 103 



FRAGMENT XVIII. 



(jtallia is no more: these eyes have ta'en a 
long farewel, for all has faded on the sight; no 
trace of land is left upon the bosom of the deep, 

which wafts me now to Scotia's shores. What 

a poor wandering wretch am I : driven by fate, 
I strive for peace in every change, and yet no 
change brings comfort to my heart. My heav- 
ing bosom tells me I shall see my queen again ; 
the thought transports me, when suddenly the 
woe-worn form of Angeline, in supplicating ac- 
cents, seems to court commiseration. Hea- 
vens ! how my poor soul is on the rack, and 
sickening prays for any change that may alleviate 

its sufferings. Talk not of torments in a 

world to come— my bitterness is on this side of 
the grave, for I can steep all other anguish in 
forgetfulness. — Wou'd that the rocking of this 
bark might sooth me, and o'er my starting eye- 
n 4 



104s CHATELAR. 

balls throw the veil of gentle sleep Come, 

thou balm of life — come, soul-invigorating god, 
and o'er my senses wave thy leaden pinions; 
with poppy wreath entwine my brows, and let 
me own thy spell, thou semblance of annihilat- 
ing death. — I will not fright thee from my pillow, 
gentle god, but sooth thee into fond compliance. 
— Why shouldst thou fly the wretched slave of 
love ? If it were guilty thus to love, thou then 
might'st start away, and leave me to the sting of 
goading conscience. But love is not allied to 
horrors, 'tis tenderness and heaven-bred sympa- 
thy ; then wherefore should not sleep and love 
agree ? Then bound with rosy fetters seek my 
couch, and in their dear embrace entrance my 

soul, and give it up to transient happiness ! * 
******** 

* * * The massy signet weighs 
upon mine eye-lids— my prayer is heard, and 
Chatelar now seeks his pallet, and yields his care- 
worn frame into the arms of peace. * 

******* 

******** 

* Sleep hath been kind ; for five 
revolving hours I've drank of comfort's balmy 
cup, and all has been annihilation ! 1 feel the 
renovating draught, new vigour nerves my soul, 
and I can combat still with dark despair. Now 
steals the dawn upon night's sable garb, and 



CHATELAR. 105 

fainter shows the moon her silver' d hue upon the 

undulating bosom of the briny deep. ■ 

I will unto the deck, and as the morning dawns 
catch the first tint of distant land that breaks 
upon the misty horizon. — Yes, I will hail dear 
Scotland's shore, and think of thee, my queen ! 

How beauteous now 
appear the ruddy streaks of day ; how cool the 
passing breeze ; and, oh ! how welcome is the 
land of love, that breaks in azure majesty upon 
my eager sight. — Methinks I now behold the 
goddess of yon shore rising resplendent as the 
beam of day, and banishing with heavenly smiles 
each sublunary ill that might attend her prostrate 
subjects. — Dear land, I welcome thee again ; 
blessed queen, once more I come to pay thee 
homage, and expire !— Yes, Mary's my theme, 
and thus I trace my love and misery : — 

M-ark these poor lines, an angel's here display'd, 
A-s lustrous as the star of cloudless eve ; 
R-ich in each beauty, and by virtue 'ray'd 
I-n truth : and still form'd only to deceive, 
E-nticing my true heart to make it grieve. 

Absorbed in thought, with eyes still bent upon 
the shore, have 1 some tedious hours thus spent 
in watchful expectation. Now cheerfully the 
mariners prepare to make the port, and then I 



j 05 CHATELAR. 

tread the land of happiness ; the wind seems ea- 
gerly to back my cause, and fills the spreading 
sails, while the sharp stern cuts through the 
briny waves, and, as the vessel rides upon the 
deep, scatters around a myriad of gems which 
glitter in the blazing beams of day. — Thus it is 
with Chatelar : love is the port I seek ; hope is 
the sea whereon my heart is launched ; fancy still 
wafts me on, and scatters round me visions of de- 
light as transitory as these glist'ning bubbles, 
which burst as soon as formed upon my pensive 
sight. 



CHATELAR. 107 



FRAGMENT XIX. 



1 have seen my lovely queen, and on my knees 
implored her gracious pardon. Merciful hea- 
ven ! with what sweetness did she accord for- 
giveness, and once more bless me with her favour. 
— Yes, I have passed whole days in gazing on 
her ; I have been so overpowered with bliss, that 
all has been forgotten but my queen, and I now 
catch a solitary moment to give my passion vent. 
Oh, matchless love ! dread power ! whose in- 
fluence I adore, and yet contemplate but with 
fear, extend thy fostering influence to him who is 
most fervent of thy slaves; — pour down on my 
devoted head one pitying ray, that so the pros- 
pect of an existence rendered dark and cheerless, 
may be illumined with thy renovating smile. — 
Yes, let thy invigorating beam infuse into my 
jarring soul the balm of heavenly comfort; give 
me yet more of love, and let me die for nought 
but Mary. 



]0S CHATELAR. 

Gordon still loves, and A r ran lives in hope; each 
claims alike the beauteous goddess, impelled by 
that same power which holds o'er my poor soul 
despotic sway. Yet still lives Mary mistress of 
her fate, unbound by every tie but will ; and till 
that will enchains her to another, Chatelar may 

cherish hope. What is impossible to fate, and 

what may not love accomplish ? Monarchs have 
bent before his shrine — queens by his power have 
been enslaved ; for love knows no title but pre- 
eminence of affection and of truth, and who is more 

enobled than his votary — his Chatelar ? -Why 

should I war against my only bliss on this side of 

futurity ? Heaven formed me as I am, the 

creature of affection, and I but bow to its decree 
in living but for love. — Upon the tablet of my 
heart is graven Mary, and death can alone efface 
it. 

L-ove, though divided, marks my ev'ry line, 
O-n that I live, more constant than the dove ; 
V-ows unto him I pay, whose pow'r divine 
E-nds as it first began — nought else but love. 

I am no sensualist ; I have not brutalized my 
mind, nor contaminated the pure ray of my di- 
vinity, — I love with truth, with ardour, and with 
tenderest affection, from whence have arisen all 
those extacies that constitute the heaven of lov- 



CHATELAR. IO9 

ing. — Tis true I am a tyrant in the passion which 
consumes me, but none can truly love who 
would receive it when divided. — I am in jealousy 
more furious and determined than the dread ty- 
gress of her whelps bereft, who hunts the vile 
despoiler : and who can feel such love as mine, 

and yet not taste of jealousy ? 1 love not from 

ambition, I doat not from lust, nor is it vanity 
would prompt my actions to enchain the warm 
affections of a queen; — ambition, I despise thee; 
lust, I contemn thee ; vanity, thou art air. — The 
first cannot dazzle, the second sharpens not the 
senses, neither lives the third within me. Others / 
may think they love, but Chatelar avows it, since 
every ill combined would not diminish in his 

soul the fervency that's kindled there. May'st 

thou, dear Mary, one day know my pangs, but 
may'st thou never feel them for created man, 
unless for Chatelar. Something whispers Pre- 
sumption ! — I do deny the charge ; for every crea- 
ture boldly dares to ask what fate omnipotent 
denies him. — Poverty claims wealth- — ambition 
craves for honour — kings would have boundless 
sway — despots would be gods — and Chatelar asks 
love. Where is my crime in claiming a return 
for that already given ? or if it never can be 
mine, why should I dash at once to earth the 
air-drawn vision of felicity ? If it were criminal 
to love, then love had ne'er been coupled with 



110 



CHATELAR. 






existence ; and if in Cbatelar it be a crime, his 
eyes had never met the form of Mary. Fate is 
inscrutable; and sanctioned by its will I yield, 
without a sigh, to my reward, be it or love or 
misery. 




CHATELAR. ] 1 1 






FRAGMENT XX. 



Each pleasure hath its pain, nor yet was ever 
mortal joy complete. I have been lulled by bliss 
so exquisite, that reason should have told me it 
was a dream. — I have forgotten every thing in 
the great vortex of love which hath, till now, 
o'erwhelmed me. — Yes, weeks have transpired 
without inflicting on my heart one pang of jea- 
lousy. Fool that I was, to think myself so per- 
manently blessed. — Why, fond fallacious hope, 
didst thou hold prospects to my senses which never 
were to find realization ? This morning I at- 
tended on my queen, as I was wont ; methought 
she smiled upon me with more than usual kind- 
ness, but at that instant was the fond illusion ba- 
nished — the hateful Gordon entered.— Almighty 
powers ! she looked towards him, and at that 
moment too her azure eyes seemed swimming 
with more melting lustre, and, ere the quick re- 



\)2 CHATELAR. 






vulsion of my blood gave fresh re-animation to my 
pallid cheek, her soft blue eye, seeking conceal- 
ment under the darkened lash, gave to my rival 
that enchanting glance which I then sickened to 

enjoy. Oh! had that soul-subduing look been 

bent on Chatelar, or had my heart-strings crack* d 
at once, and told to Mary the great truth that 

wrings my inmost soul. Yes, for even now I 

am a wretch bereft of hope and comfort ; — fly 
moments — fly swiftly time — that I may yield in 
death my love. But all in vain I crave thy speed, 
thou hoary power, that notest down my moments 
of wretchedness : — alas ! too lagging is thy pace 
for the suffering despondency of uncontrolled 
despair. 

C-an heav'n's dread frown thy woes excel? 
H-as fate reserved a pang more keen ? 
A-nd is there language that can tell, 
T-he wretch more curs'd than here is seen. 
E-ach line, in part, makes out despair — 
L-ove quite forlorn — dread misery— 
A-nd ev'ry attribute of care — 
R-age, torments, hell, and jealousy. 

My soul now chides me, for Angeline appears 
to bear me company in misery. — Wretch, that I 
was, to be so lost in bliss as not to yield one sigh 

for Angeline. It is justice: the pang I now 

endure is thy punition, Righteous Heaven, for 






CHATELAR. 113 

my neglect of pining innocence.— Yes, Mary; 
for noble Condè has instructed me of all the me- 
lancholy and despair that wrings the heart of that 
devoted maid. — Oh ! had I felt for her what 
thou alone usurp'st, I now had basked in love's 
most gaudy beam, and she had been requited. — 
But, no ; fate hath not thus ordained; and thou, 
poor love-sick maid, must sigh forlorn, while in 
the breast of Chatelar the gnawing fang of jea- 
lousy corrodes with poison, slow consuming. 

I reverence thy merits, Gordon, as a man, but 
as a rival I abhor thee ; for thou seemest singled 
out to thwart the purpose of my soul, and win 

the soft affections of my queen. What must 

be done ? I cannot play the vile assassin's part, 
and stab unseen ; I cannot mingle with the 
wholesome draught the potion of inevitable death, 
nor can I league with midnight murderers, and 
buy with gold extermination : what if I chal- 
lenge him to single combat ? his rank protects 
him from my fury; besides, what plea should 
I alledge, for such an act against the noblest 
youth that ever yet drew breath of life, against 
the man that never did me wrong ? I can do 
nought but blaze the secret of my soul, and then 
meet death, or what is far more terrible, eternal 
banishment from Mary and these shores, must 
be my doom for ever. 

i 



114 CHATELAH. 

How dreadful roars the wind ; how wildly doth 
the tempest of this midnight hour drift 'gainst the 
casements of my chamber; surely this war of 
elements is but the type of what I feel within : I 
could be happy on a desart heath, and smile 
upon the storm, so I were free in mind^ but 
round mine heart the adamantine chain is knit, 
aud i'm the love-bound creature of neglect and 
wretchedness ! 

Why came I hither to be doubly curs'd ; to 
live a season in the bowers of love, and then be 
driven along the thorny way unto the cave of 
gloomy jealousy ?--- a thousand strange chimeras 
rush upon my brain, and desperation points at 
acts that make my fearless bosom tremble ! 
'Tis now the hour of silence, and the coward soul, 
ashamed to act its villany by day, steals to effect 
its end : if graves e'er yield to sight the ghastly 
forms of those they now entomb, 'tis at this pe- 
riod they stalk forth to act the will of fate : if in- 
cantations, or the hellish spells of earthly crea- 
tures can have weight, 'tis even at this solemn pe- 
riod they enact their deeds of darkness :— this, 
this is the season, when the prowling enemy of 
man steals forth to root in the unstable mind the 
brooding act of horror !— Yes, and 'tis now ; 
the same malign deceiver wills me to act what I 
would scorn to own. * * * * * Come 
to my aid bright Reason, and dispel this chaos 



CHATELAR. 115 

that entombs my better sense, and hurries me to 
madness. 

I shudder at my thoughts — yes ; from myself I 
shrink as the dark spell evaporates, that hood- 
wink'd eveiy noble property within me. * 

Can it be ? Force ! — Could ever Chatelar 

stoop to compuhatory enjoyment ?-- -Oh ! horror, 
horror ! accursed recollection sleep ! and may 
the thought be buried in the grave of oblivion ! 



12 



CHATELAR. 117 



FRAGMENT XXI. 






My soul is mantled with the gloom of despera- 
tion : for three successive nights mine eyes have 
been rivetted to earth, and scarcely can I now re- 
sume my tale of woe. -Even in the presence 

of my queen the lowering demon of despair has 
hovered round me — yes ; not the radiance of her 
heavenly eyes could chase the horror from me ; 
for Gordon is assiduous, and is blessed, while all 
the pangs of Chatelar are turned to mockery. — 

Thou art requited, Angeline ; for every sigh 

thou numberest out is by this breast repaid with 
groans of anguish. — Love is no blessing; it bears 
no kin to the Divinity ; it is a fiend, a heart- 
consuming fire, a flood of groaning grief, the 
grave of happiness. — Accurs'd tormentor! would 
that 1 might blot thee out from thy blood-stained 
register — my yearning heart; would that I could 
cancel thee for ever, and know that thou wert 
wafted to the regions of oblivion : how should I 
i3 



118 CHATELAR. 

smile to see thee plunged in Tartarus, or hurried 
in the whirling regions of chaotic darkness ! — 
— More would I do than words can picture or 
my fancy paint, to reek revenge upon thy head, 
thou rosy child, thou dimpled cozener, who 
srmTst but to destroy .-—Oh ! might I give my 
passion vent—this firm-set earth, these Scottish 
shores, I'd blow amid the airy regions, and glut 
upon the horrid wreck ! for here I barter' d hap- 
piness on this side of the grave. I am more rest- 
less grown than when my passions first subdued 
me ; the burning shaft with double fury rages in 
my veins ; I'm mad with love ! — Fly from my 
sight, thou hateful book— I will no more of 
thee ; for thou, Petrarch, art the constant kin- 
dler of my fires,— What are these beads to me Ì 
I have forgotten how to pray, bewildered as I am 

in love Hold, they were Mary's — poor 

wretched relics, wherefore should I rave against 
thee ? — no ; rather let me kiss thee, for thou 
lend'st a momentary calm, and I will hug thy 
genial influence* 



BALLAD. 



My pulse is languid, all my senses die ; 
My heart o'erflows, I weep, yet know not why — 
Ah ! sure my heart's the chronicle of love : 



CHATELAR. lig 

My eyes transfiVd forget their wonted rest ; 
My mind by contrite pray'r seeks to be blest — 
But all in vain I turn my gaze above. 

Now rapid beats my pulse, my senses fire ; 

My heart's in flames, and tears yield to desire : 
'Tis love who traces with his raging dart 

The form, the majesty, and every grace, 

That shines, O queen ! from thy celestial face, 
Upon the tablet of my bleeding heart. 

Now fury rages, and my throbbing brain 
Would court fell madness to alleviate pain- 
Come, Mary, let the drop of feeling flow : 
Again 'tis o'er, the raging fever dies, 
And nought remains but sadness, tears, and sighs — 
I'm left the solitary child of woe. 






What is for Chatelar but gloomy cogitation, 
that conjures up some scene which terminates in 
mine undoing ? — My days are anguish, and my 
nights despair.— My soul inclines to one fixed 
point, which only has existence to torment me. 
— Something must be achieved to give my bo- 
som rest; this unsubstantial bliss but mocks me 

— I pant for more 1 shudder as I think. 

The means are dreadful, but my torture is yet 

more horrible ! —Would that I cou'd end 

the struggle and expire. A look : there's 

1 4> 



120 



CHATELAR. 






nought so guilty in the thought.— -Then too 

shall I be far more blessed than Gordon,- 

Glorious idea ! satiating thought! — Yes, I will 



enlist beneath the banner of my passion, 
dare the worst that can befal me. 



and 






CHATELAR. 12I 



FRAGMENT XXII. 



Oh ! let me note the blessed moments that have 
just transpired ; not all thy indignation, Mary, 
now appals me ; — I must, I will to thee confess 
the transport of my bosom, that o'erflows with 
rapture and with love.— Scarcely had the ninth 
hour toll'd upon the breeze when I, beneath thy 
bed in close concealment, lay to watch thy com- 
ing. Heavens ! what moments of suspense ! — 

what dear delicious minutes, never to be recal- 
led ! You came at length with that chaste 

maid who nightly gazes on your unrobed charms, 
nor feels a thrill of extacy. Upon your table 
stood the blazing tapers, whose light beamed full 
upon you : forth from the bandeau that enchain- 
ed your hair I saw your flowing ringlets, of all 
art divested, hang loosely o'er your falling shoul- 
ders, while Maude, obedient to your soft com- 
mand, passed through your glossy locks the dis- 
entangling comb. What a profusion of en- 



122 CHATELAR. 

chanting tresses wanton'd o'er your heaving bo- 
som, seeming to kiss the thrones of bliss di- 
vested of all covering. — I then beheld the 
parian marble of your neck, while your at- 
tendant, busy still with nimble fingers, soon un- 
loosened every lace that bound your robe, and 

kept your taper waist in bondage. 1 could not 

view your form distinct, for modesty disdained to 
make those hidden treasures known, even to your 
kindred sex. — No, Mary from her attendant's 
gaze preserves a scene that gods would reverence. 
— -The lily drapery, that shrouded all the heaven 
of bliss I pant for, still from my eager sight could 
not conceal a thousand charms unspeakable.- 
A torrent of luscious joy rush'd on my senses ! — 

Maude retired. 1 could no longer curb my 

raging transports 1 rushed forth ; then utter- 
ing thy dear name, my queen, sunk o'ercome 
w jth * * # « # * 

* * * * I awoke from the de- 
licious trance — I found thee habited, dear god- 
dess of my heart! and I alone, and in thy cham- 
ber. — I sunk upon my knees — I bathed thy feet 
with tears ; for thou hadst once more pity on 
me — yes : thy fame had been for ever slurred 
hadst thou made known the fact, and therefore 
silently thou didst await to send me from thy 

presence. What rigor was in thine eye ; what 

majesty was in thy port ; — I shuddered at the 






CHATELAR. 103 

Bold presumption of my love, and yet I could 
not but applaud the deed, since it had feasted 

me with heaven ! " Begone," thou didst 

exclaim, " and learn to keep thy counsel ; a 
" second time I do accord forgiveness, but the 

" third is death." Again I knelt, implored, 

till thou, in fear of interruption and discovery, 
didst yield compliance to my ardent prayer, that 
I might still remain the tranquil occupant of this 
my station. 

What art thou, Gordon, now, compared with 

Chalelar ? 1 have been every thing but folded 

in her arms— I have done every thing but yield 

my soul upon her bosom! Transporting 

thought ! heavenly Mary ! fortunate Chatelar ! 

But, shall I rest content ? will not the 

frenzy of my passion urge me farther ? No 

matter — Fve wound up every function of my 
soul, and nothing sublunary can appal me. 
Oh ! had I at her feet expired, the scene of strug- 
gling love had closed upon the lap of pleasure !— - 
— To-morrow I must meet my queen— how shall 
I regain the favour my temerity has lost, and 
win her angel smile ? — ]\ly heart will teach me— 
love is the best instructor — to him I have re- 
course : he is my lord, and I should prove the 
traitor to my heart did I deny his sacred power. 

It is resolved : I own no other sway but 

love's-— no other hope but Mary. 



CHATELAR. J25 



FRAGMENT XXI II. 



What changes in my fate must here be regis- 
tered; what an accumulated scene of bliss and 
wretchedness will stain my page. — The morning 
beamed upon me as the inhabitant of a palace, , 
and three days constant assiduity had partly re- 
conciled my queen to the presumptuous mortal, 

who had dared offend her. Now mark the 

change : the self-same sun has closed upon me 
the inmate of a narrow dungeon, from whence 
I shall be led to meet my fate, and die for the 

audacity of love.- Who would not suffer death 

in such a cause ? who would not pay with life 
for such extatic joy as I once more experienced ? 
— Let me recal those charming moments ; they 
arc the last of joy I shall experience in this life, 
and tyranny cannot debar me from the contem- 
plation. A second time within thy chamber was 
my form concealed : this very night these arms 
enfolded thee ; again I saw the beauties of thy 



126 CHATELAU. 

glossy hair in wild luxuriance wave around thy 
polished neck ; a languor was in thy dark-blue 
melting eyes ; nectareous dew bespangled o'er 
thy coral lips, which half unclosed gave to my 
ravished sight the ivory treasures they in part 
concealed. With choicest perfumes did thy 
Maude attend, and having twined thy tresses in 
delightful folds, the treasures of thy neck and 
falling shoulders were perceptible : again the lace 
gave way— again thy bosom, freed from all con- 
trol, heaved to my devouring eyes, while thy 
dear fluttering heart kept love's enchanting har- 
mony.— I saw those orbs of milky hue— yes, 
doubly was I feasted with the sight ; for in the 
friendly mirror, before which thou stood'st reflect- 
ed, were thy glowing charms ; I could discern 
the streaks of azure on the spotless mountains of 
thy bosom, whose summits, crowned with vernal 
buds, seemed planted there for love's warm pres- 
sure. — Thy cumberous robes thrown off, thy 
form was to mine eyes revealed — but, ah ! when 
from thy leg the covering was withdrawn, I saw 
the symmetry of shape almost as high as warm- 
est fancy could desire ; I saw that thigh, as ivory 
sleek, and formed in Venus's mould ; I saw those 
legs in gradual taper to the ancle fall, more deli- 
cate than ever mind conceived, or art to sculp- 
ture gave ; I saw those little feet, and that en- 
chanting heel, which view'd, with every other 



CHATELAR. ] 27 

charm concealed, must melt with luxury the ca- 
sual gazer. What was to be done ? I blazed 

with passion — a burning flood o'erwhelmed my 

heart !— -Maude had retired. 1 darted forth, 

and in my arms embraced this luscious world of 
charms ! — I felt the heaving of thy breast, my 
queen ! thy throbbing heart kept pace with that 
within my bosom.— My lips met thine— oh ! 
what a melting kiss ! — resistance made the mo- 
ment more enchanting; thy struggling limbs 
pressed close to those that did entwine thee; 
the genial glow of thy firm thigh communicated 
unto mine ; I felt those breasts that seemed in- 
viting pressure ; I stifled supplications, and heard 
nought but the completion of desire : already had 
thy trembling form half yielded to the vigour of 
my love — I bore thee in my nerved arms, when, 
finding me with desperation nYd, thy shrieks 
gave the alarm, an armed band appeared, and 
hither was I hurried from the heaven of hea- 
vens, to linger in a dungeon's gloom ! Thus 
ends my life of extacy ; a few short hours have 
cut me short from liberty and life. — I must pre- 
pare to meet the solemn judgment of the law ; I 
must resign myself to death ; and, oh ! more 
terrible than all the rest, I must be ready for 
that solemn court whence there is no appeal ! — 
Yes, I must meet my Great Creator ! Let me 
not linger long in horrible suspence, enchanting 



128 CHATELAR. 

queen ; summon the judges, and let the execu 
tioner complete the work — my life is forfeit to 
the laws, and I resign it ; but never will I in this 
life resign my love— no ; for I have hitherto 
hugg'd it to my soul, nor shall it 'scape me till the 
link be severed for ever, that binds me to exist- 
ence ! 



CHATELAR. 129 



FRAGMENT XXIV. 



A heavy gloom now lords it o'er my heart; 
this world to me is darkness, and the contempla- 
tion of futurity a dream ! 

What is imprisonment; and what are these/ 
cold flinty walls, but the mere emblems of the 
life I loath ? — This dungeon is my earthly frame, 
confining the warm entranced soul, which looks 
upon a future state, as these my wearied eyes 
gaze through yon narrow casement on the bound- 
less realms of gaudy day. Dreams of delu- 
sive Hope, farewel; farewel to love, to Mary, 
and to happiness ! — Why was I cozened thus ? 
why did a mother's struggling pangs give life, 
which only nurtur'd reason that the possessor 
might be accursed for ever ?-— Yes, I am ac- 
curs'd ; Chatelar is doom'd to endless misery. 

As I look back upon life's stormy sea, my re- 
solution stands appall'd, and I more wonder that 
I am, than that I should be thus. — Were ever 
man's affections such as mine ? — or if they were, 

K 



130 CHATELAR. 

show me that creature, in whom prudence 
wrought so much as she hath done in me.- : -Have 
I not cool'd the boiling temper of my blood ì 
have 1 not calm'd the raging fury of my brain T 
have I not reasoned with my yearning heart, and 
physic' d black despair ?— I challenge man, creat- 
ed such as I am, to do as I have done. Now 

is the busy tongue of rumour quite unfettered, 
and tales ride post on slander's wing : now are 
the ears of greedy calumny op'd wide, to swal- 
low every breath of defamation, and still add 
falshood upon falshood to blacken and condemn 

me. Rumour, I laugh thy tale to scorn. — 

Slander, thou canst not taint me ; nor can accu- 
mulated calumny appal my soul, or stigmatize 
me with the opprobrium of guilt.— Where is mine 
offence ? — I loved, and am despised. — Is it then 
with thee, thou rancorous world, thus to accuse 
me ? rather should I in bitterness of heart vent 
curses on thee ; for thou didst place 'twixt me 
and Mary such a distance, as barr'd all hope 

from me for ever. 1 shall ignobly die; the 

current of my blood, by one fell stroke, will be 
for ever stopped ;— and wherefore so ?— Because 
I loved a queen !***** 

* * * I feel the godlike emanation ; 
it warms, it blazes in me, and 1 bow with reve- 
rence to the reason that inspires it.— Is it thy 
beauty, my enchanting queen, which should en- 



CHATELAR. 131 

title thee to more than mortal sway ? Is it thy 
grace, and those accomplishments which adorn 
thy mind, that give thee in the world's esteem 
this dread pre-eminence ? — No : it is distinction 
but in name and blood : this is the mighty barrier 
that blights my hope, my love, and gives me to 
the grave ! — Poor grovelling world, how I des- 
pise thy prejudices ; how my soul soars above 
thee, and wings its flight with eagle pinions to 
the realms of truth and everlasting light. ■ 
Thou glorious sun, whose piercing eye can gild 
the gloom of this my melancholy dungeon, 'tis 
but a little and then thy light is scarf d for ever i( 
— A thousand eyes will witness my last agony, 

and view my streaming blood. Ah! would 

that my jailor now would summon me ; 1 burn 
to meet my fate, and die for Mary ! Cold rigid 
world, thou ne'er canst know me ; 'tis but to my 
queen these struggles I'd impart.— Oh ! may she 
deign to read, and drop the tear of sweet com- 
miseration. 

I know not why, but oftentimes a sad presen- 
timent steals o'er my soul, and tells me that the 
day may come, when such a servant as poor 
Chatelar might not be deemed unworthy the at- 
tention of my Mary. How crooked are the 

paths of life ; how few the sweets ; how bitter is 

the gall ; the wretched, like the daisy of the 

field, neglected live, nor feel the withering blast 

k 2 



J32 CHATELAR. 

of wav'ring fortune ; the great alone are noted, 
and, though they weather long the pitiless storm, 
are struck at length, and, like the towering oak, 
hurl'd to destruction ! — Greatness is a dream ! 

This world's a dream ! — we wander, and we 

know not whither. Oh ! if b}' fate's decree, 
there is one chosen cup unmixed with gall, let it 
be Mary's and I die content ; for did I know that 
keen despair would ever wring her heart, how 
doubly curs'd would then appear the annihilating 

blow. How great are all thy judgments, 

King of Heaven; how matchless thy decrees; 
for hadst thou so ordained, that Chatelar might 
gaze upon futurity, and in that region unexplor- 
ed a pang was registered for thee, O Mary ! not 
all the horrors of the wrath of Heaven could 
equal that which would assail my soul on leaving 
thee thus unprotected ;-— for where will Mary 

find so true a servant as the love-sick Chatelar ? 
******** 

* * * * But, no ; it cannot be : 
my queen was formed to bask in heavenly bliss, 

and never taste despair. Why yearns my heart 

anew ? — Down, down, obtruding thoughts ! nor 
strive to curse still more a feeble wretch, who 
totters on the margin of futurity. — I will not 
yield to such ideas; fortune can frown on all 
but her who reigns within my heart — yes ; for I 
have ta'en upon myself the twofold share of 



CHATELAR. 133 

worldly woe, that Mary might live free from mor- 
tal anguish. My pangs have given peace to 

her I love on this side of the grave : then let me 
hence ; so shall I know the world to come, and 
whatsoe'er remains to purchase bliss.— Eternal 
be the future toil of wretched Chatelar ! 



K3 



CHATELAR. 135 



FRAGMENT XXV. 



It is done ! — I am condemned ! — The aweful 
voice of justice dooms me to the block. — To- 
morrow's sun again shall greet these eyes ; again 
one solemn night, like this, shall vainly come td 
sooth my weary soul, and court my haggard eyes 
to sleep.— Sleep is no more for Chatelar on this 
side of the grave : the morning which succeeds 
lights me to regions unexplored; where all is du- 
bious and incomprehensible^— How strange 
are man's affections : when most oppressed with 
grief and terror, the smallest circumstance will 
yield him some consolatory meditation. — Wou'dst 
thou believe it Mary? — thy Chatelar, doom'd 
by thy charms to suffer a premature death, could 
yet be led, from contemplation of futurity, to 
think and moralize on things most insignificant, 
on that which was on this side of the grave. 

My queen, I had been picturing thy matchless 
beauties ; for nought can rob me of my fancy's 
K 4 



136 CHATELAR. 

boundless freedom : I had conjured up a thou- 
sand scenes of faded bliss, when suddenly the 
apparatus of my fate struck on my wandering 
senses.— I saw the scaffold — nay, the very block, 
and by its side the stern executioner of justice; 
methought his axe glittered in the beams of 
morning : a rabble crowd seemed to attend my 
doom ; I was in mind what I must corporeally 
appear, ere the bright sun has numbered out two 
tedious days.- — Yes, Mary ; even then — even at 
that most solemn juncture, I was awakened from 
the scene of death, and thought no more of cold 

oblivion. Already had the clouds of night 

scarf d the last gleam of day; already nature 
seem'd to have lull'd in sleep the brows of labour 
and hard-earn' d content, when lo, upon yon tree, 
whose branches fan my prison's grated window, a 
harmless songster of the silent hour sang forth 
his melancholy strain. — Poor tender bird, said 
I ; why is thy swelling throat attuned near one so 
abject and forlorn as me ? Still warbled on the 
little creature, who in responsive sadness seemed 
to chide my cruelty, and yet commiserate my 
luckless fate. — There seemed a sympathy be- 
tween us, and I would have died a thousand 
deaths ere mortal hands had injured the sweet 
feathered soother of my miseries. — I was touch- 
ed; my soul had yielded to the impulse ; a thril- 
ling tenderness pervaded me; — death was no 



CHATELAR. 137 

more; for all was love and Mary! 1 recur 

with wonder to the act; for never did I again 
suppose these fingers would have struck the 
string — yet they did so; for at that moment 
with a trembling hand I caught the lute, which 
once had charms for thee, my queen, and which, 
with thy Petrarch, and these l ^ly beads, have 
been the mute companion of my solitude.— I 
sang, w r hen lo, the warbler ceased, till as the 
last vibration of the chord spoke sadness to the 
breeze of night ; the moon then darting forth its 
pallid gleam, I saw my little bird advance from 
spray to spray, till on the iron-grate he perched, 
when fìnding silence reign, with tones exuberant 
he made response, and 1 but seemed a beggar to 
his persuasive melancholy. — Oh, bounteous fate ! 
that send'st one pitying friend to lull my wearied 
senses in forgetfulness — yes ; for this inoffensive 
chanter calm'd my soul, by teaching me that 
grief may find a soother, even when environed 
by the dungeon's solitary gloom. — Oh ! may no 
cruel hand e'er rob thee of thy liberty, sweet flut- 
terer of the grove ; may'st thou remember long 
those waving branches, and make them the night- 
ly witnesses of thy heavenly song ; may'st thou 
perhaps recal the strain of Chatelar, and upon 
yon grating strive to give new life to this poor 
lute, whose music dies with its devoted master! 
One hand alone could call thee forth, sweet 



Ì38 CHATELAR. 

bird, and with seraphic note outrival all thy mas- 
try; but she will ne'er become the inmate of a 
prison's gloom, and therefore, thou dear soother, 
may'st live the unmatched child of sweetest har- 
mony i * ^ * * * * 

* * * * The morn in ruddy 

majesty now streaks the sky, and night with lag- 
ging pace still lingers on the western expanse.— - 
The day shall rise, and twelve revolving hours 
bring on returning gloom, and then— O Chate- 
lar ! shall fortune's malice do her worst, and 

mingle thee with ashes long forgotten. How 

calm is now the thought; for unto bitterness how 
sweet is death ; how grateful is the contempla- 
tion of futurity !— Yet, to leave thee, Mary — 
perhaps unpitied as unseen; to quit the sove- 
reign of my soul, will ruffle my tranquillity, and 
baffle all my boasted resolution.— There is no re- 
cal ; my reason tells me I must die ; yet still my 
boisterous passion cries aloud, 1 love, and my 
fond bleeding heart yearns out for Mary in the 
jaws of death. 

Come love — come death, for Chatelar can 
welcome you — yes ; to the last the shaft shall be 
the inmate of my breast, and I will cherish it ; 
nor shall the withering touch of mundane power 
wrench the keen arrow from my bosom ; for I 

will die, and die in love ! Oh ! how I laugh 

to scorn the systematic show of justice in this 



CHATELAR. 139 

world : the judges* robes, and all the laboured 
> forms of worldly courts, are nought to Chatelar. 
— This morning's mockery condemned me ; and 
as the dread behest of law was thundered in mine 
ear, methought the scale of justice turned awry, 
and that the hood-wink'd goddess fled in haste, 
ashamed of such vile profanation. But let the 
ermined sage still doom me to the block ; let jus- 
tice manacled assent to his behest; I have a 
judge within ; a page whereon so legibly is writ- 
ten good and ill, that not the power of earthly 
beings can efface it; — but hold, I will not rave 
against my condemnation ; the proof of inno- 
cence is sweet serenity ; I will be peaceful, and f 
in poetic numbers give my soul full vent, 

I crave no mercy for my forfeit life, 

I claim no sigh*, I ask no pitying tear ; 
Existence would be love, and love is strife, 

So joy shall be th' attendant on my bier. 

My fancy pictur'd love as bliss supreme, 
And youthful passion soon enslav'd my heart : 

I found warm fancy but a fleeting dream, 
And fervent passion but a rankling dart. 

I courted hope, she conjur'd visions bright, 

My mind equality in nature drew ; 
Hope proved the antic to my dazzled sight, 

Which argument still forc'd me to pursue. 



140 . CHATELAR. 

To feast on Mary's charms was once my care, 
Methought I never could have sued for more ; 

But bless'd with those, presumption made me dare, 
And I confess'd the flame which I deplore. 

I flew the sweet destroyer of my rest, 
I courted death in many a bloody fray ; 

When love, by torturing another's breast, 

Still urg'd me back that I might own his sway. 

Again I bask in beauty's radiant sun, 
I dare attempt to realize my bliss ; 

I gaze unseen, I gaze, and am undone, 
And sell existence for love's ardent kiss. 

Aurora soon will tinge with ruddy hue 

The eastern expanse, now in darkness dress' d, 

And I with her shall bid life's night adieu, 
To wake immortal, and for ever bless'd. 

But, ah ! may not the form of Mary live 
In soul aerial, as in mortal fame ? 

Will icy death annihilation give, 

Or doth love's fury still exist the same ? 

To part for ever from the bliss I crave, 
Uncertain of the future, gives me dread ; 

Perhaps, expecting comfort in the grave, 
To love the living Mary with the dead. 

Why puzzle still with doubts my throbbing brain? 

Why with perplexity encrease the shock ? 
Had I the will to live, the strife were vain — ■ 

To-morrow seals my doom upon the block. 



CHATELAR. J41 

Let Jove and resignation nerve my soul, 

Since neither bolt, or cell, or axe have sway, 

My bosom's warm affections to control — 
My heart is Mary's — Mary I obey. 

Come smiling morn, for thou wilt comfort lend, 
And poise within me ev'ry jarring sense ; 

Death is to Chatelar the wish'd-for friend, 

For death brings certainty, and kills suspense. 



CHATELAR. 143 



FRAGMENT XXVI. 



1 is one, and the faint breeze of morning steals 
through my grated window : I have been shed-/ 
ding tears of blood upon the scrawl before me — 
yes, cruel Mary : it is from the generous Prince 
de Condè, and it was thy pleasure I should taste 
of bitterness even in the jaws of death ; for in 
that fatal packet, which from thy palace was this 
eve by thy command dispatched to Chatelar, is 
registered the death of Angeline. — She is no 
more; the lovely maid hath speeded to the 
Throne of God — perhaps to plead my pardon; 
yet what a pang for me. — Oh ! had a few short 
wretched hours transpired ere this had reached 
me, I had not thus received accumulated pangs 

to usher me to execution. Yet pour down thy 

wrath, my queen, I shall not long remain to blast 
thee with my hated form, or give offence to thy 
proud majesty. — 1 go to realms unknown, where 



144 CHATELAR. 

in oblivion all the scenes of life are buried — I go 
perhaps to meet the spirit of poor Angeline, and 
in those regions of eternal bliss requite the love 
I owe. — I am resigned to death ; this is the mo- 
ment I so long have coveted : I look into futu- 
rity, and all is as a vision. — I will not mad my 
brain for the short space of life that yet remains ; 
I will to the last avow my sublunary love, and 
pray for thee, my Mary,— And yet, to be for 
ever torn from life ; to have the youthful current 
of my blood cut short at one dread blow, must 
make the stoutest own a momentary chill.— 
May'st thou, oh ! Mary, never know a scene like 
this ; may no dark cloud conceal the sun of plea- 
sure from thee ; may life be granted while it hath 
joys in store ; and may the hour of death be as a 
pleasing dream, and waft thee to Elysium. * 

* * I close the scene : by the Great 
God of Truth it hath been sworn, that unto thee 
alone these sealed relics of my love should be de- 
livered. — To Condè, D'Anville, and the brave 
veteran D'Andelot, have I by letter told the ter- 
mination of my miseries. Yes ; the time wears 

apace ; the morning breaks, and by the distant 
sound the period of my death draws near. — How 
ill am I prepared to meet the Great Judge of 
Heaven ; my soul is not attuned to quaff that 
balmy comfort of religion; love still holds to 



CHATELAR. 145 

my heart, entangling every thought forerunning 

death. * * * * * * 
******** 

* The minister of ghostly conso- 
lation hath been with me. — Oh ! I have prayed, 
but with a hollow heart, that has but doubled 

mine offence against High Heaven. Pity me, 

Mary; pray for me, my queen— commiseration 
is the greatest attribute of dread Omnipotence. 

* * * I have been summoned, and 

the sad register must close. Mary, farewel ; 

smile on me, Angeline. — My queen, farewel;/ 
and may the host of heaven for ever guard thee. 
— Till we meet above, again one last farewel, 
dear mistress of my heart, on this side of the 
grave. 



CHATELAR. 147 



CONCLUSION. 



BY THE EDITOR. 



Thus end the Fragments of Love, from the de; 
voted Chatelar to his queen ; to which the Ed- 
tor has only a few words to subjoin. 

From the records of history it appears, that 
this unfortunate young man proceeded to execu- 
tion with the greatest fortitude, and ascended 
the scaffold divested of every sentiment of fear, 
and yielding only to that passion which precipi- 
tated him to destruction, ere he might have 
been said to have lived a third part of his exist- 
ence. 

On the scaffold he made a very laconic address 
to the spectators, the subject of which is not re- 
corded to posterity ; but it appears that, turning 
towards the windows of the chamber, usually oc- 
cupied by Mary, and which commanded a view 
of the spot, he still professed his unalterable 
L2 



148 CHATELAR. 

passion, and gloried at meeting his fate in such a 
cause. He also pathetically upbraided her, as 
the most cruel although the loveliest of her sex ; 
and then repeating some lines out of the works of 
Ronsard, which were very applicable to his situa- 
tion, with a dauntless demeanour he gave his 
head to the block, which was severed by the ex- 
ecutioner at one blow, leaving that heart at 
peace which may with justice be said to have vi- 
brated only for love and misery. 

The melancholy which pervades the foregoing 
pages may not entitle them, perhaps, to the con- 
sideration of many readers, yet, as a curiosity 
the work is assuredly deserving some notice ; nor 
does it afford the youthful mind any scope for the 
license of passion, but, on the contrary, shows 
that dreadful devastation which is the attendant 
of a quick fancy, suffered to indulge its chimeras, 
which too frequently terminate either in madness 
or the grave. 

The reception this volume may meet with, 
will at once decide the Editor as to the use to be 
made of the transcripts still unpublished, and in 
his possession ; comprising not only poetical, but 
prose effusions of the queen, relating to her favou- 
rite David Rizzio, as also some productions of that 
musician, proving his attachment to this princess; 
together with many other points, of a most inte- 
resting nature. 



CHATELAR. 



H9 



As the beauty of Mary Queen of Scotland, 
has been so universally extolled, it would be 
fruitless to expatiate further upon the subject ; 
the Editor cannot, however, refrain at the close 
of this work, from the enumeration of the various 
names of those who may be deemed the victims 
at the shrine of her beauty. 

First. — The polished and noble Marechal 
D'Anville, unmindful of the marriage vow, which 
bound him, yielded his reason to the passion that 
took possession of his soul, and lived from that 
period a prey to melancholy. 

Second in the list comes Chatelar, the unfor- 
tunate author of the foregoing Fragments. 

Thirdly. — the handsome and accomplished 
youth, John Gordon, the Earl of Huntley's son, 
who has before been mentioned in the Effusions 
of Chatelar. This young nobleman, unable to 
obtain the object of his love, rashly enlisted in 
the cause of rebellion, and yielded his forfeit 
life upon the scaffold. 

Fourthly,— The Earl of Arran, whose fate, 
though not so tragic as that of the former, reduc- 
ed him to a state of desperation, which embit- 
tered his future life. 

Fifthly. — David. Rizzio fell a victim to the 
jealousy of Mary's husband, the Lord Darnley, 
being brutally butchered in the presence of the 
queen. 



150 CHATELAR. 

Sixthly. — We find the same Lord Darnley fal- 
ling by the treason of Bothwell, who afterwards 
compelled the queen to an union.— In this in- 
stance, however, ambition may have in some 
measure joined with love to prompt the cruel 
deed. 

Lastly. — And as if it were to stamp beyond 
all doubt the fascinations of this queen, even in 
the decline of life, her cause was espoused by 
the great Duke of Norfolk, whose love for Mary- 
pro nip ted him to essay her rescue from imprison- 
ment ; in which attempt he was frustrated by the 
politic Elizabeth and her secretary, Sir Francis 
Walsingham, who having brought the Duke to 
trial, he was condemned for high treason, and 
soon after decapitated. 

Contrary opinions have been hazarded by va- 
rious writers, since the death of the Queen of 
Scotland : some as much dictated by the extrava- 
gance of panegyric, as others are stained with the 
basest rancour; if, however, the middle path be 
taken, it will appear that Mary did not possess 
more than human frailties ; and when it is consi- 
dered, that the more elevated the station in which 
individuals are placed, the more liable they are 
to observation, and a misrepresentation of their 
failings : we ought to lend a cautious ear to the 
busy reports of historians, who are generally 
swayed by party prejudice, or political motives. 



CHATELAR. !5! 

Nor may the depraved conduct of the Earl of 
Murray have been the smallest instigation to 
those exaggerated representations of her conduct, 
the stain of which has never been effaced from 
her character. 

The Editor, fully trusting that those ideas, 
which he has ventured to commit to the press, 
may not offend the reader, here closes the Frag- 
ments of Chatelar. 







J. C'JNDEE, PRINTER, 
IVY-LANE. 



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